From Fire and Stone
by drwatsonn
Summary: When Kate made a wish on a star for a better life, waking up in Middle-earth was not exactly what she had in mind. Armed with the knowledge of the future and a deal with Mahal himself, she survives on her own for five years before a chance encounter thrusts her into a quest to slay a dragon, and earn the trust of some not-so-trusting dwarves - particularly one Thorin Oakenshield.
1. A Wish Upon a Star

**Disclaimer:** _All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

 **Welcome! I'm not entirely sure how active this fandom is anymore, but I thought I'd still give this a try. And as always, comments, constructive criticism, and feedback are all more than welcome!**

 **Happy reading!**

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Chapter One: A Wish Upon a Star

 **Earth**

 **December 24, 2011**

 **Five Years Earlier**

Snow was falling thick and fast that night, fat flakes pummeling the frozen earth as if intent to blanket the entire world in white by dawn. The streets were empty and quiet, the shabby buildings lining the blackened sidewalks dark and foreboding, ugly gargoyles standing vigil through the night. All but one of the many windows visible from the street were lightless, and if one happened to look up to the single lit window, they would see a sixteen-year-old girl staring through the frosted glass, her elbows propped on the sill and her head tilted upwards, as if searching for something in the sky.

Kate Miller was not one to wish upon a star. She knew how the world worked, and it was not because of faith, trust, and pixie dust. Being abandoned before she could even walk and growing up a foster child had given her a realistic view of life, one that was often described by adults as "harsh," "critical," and even "fatalistic." That didn't mean she had to make everything so doom and gloom though; it just meant she could see fantasy for what it was: fake and full of false hope.

A knock on her doorframe made Kate stir from her seat at the window, and she turned to see one of the younger girls living in the group home, Molly, peeking in at her.

"Hey, kiddo," Kate greeted, pushing herself off her knees with a slight grunt. "What's up?"

"Ms. Smith says she wants everyone downstairs for hot cocoa and a movie," the younger girl said, already dressed in her nightgown and her brown hair tied into pigtails. She moved closer until she was right next to Kate, dropping her voice to a whisper as she said, "I don't think she wants any of us to feel alone on Christmas Eve."

Kate smiled sadly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Of course not. Let's go get that hot cocoa."

She started out of the room she shared with the three other teenage girls in the house, but Molly's voice held her back. "What were you doing at the window?"

Kate paused on the threshold, turning to look at the younger girl. She was standing at the same spot Kate had been earlier, on her tip-toes, gazing out curiously.

"Nothing, really," Kate said. "Just watching the snow fall, I guess."

Molly suddenly gasped, causing Kate to hurry over in concern, but the younger girl just whirled around to face her with shining eyes.

"You were making a wish on a star!" she exclaimed, and Kate faltered, frowning. She wanted to point out that they were no stars to make wishes on considering the clouds and snow, but she figured bursting her bubble would be a shitty thing to do.

"Uh, yeah," she said instead, tugging her lips back up into a smile. "Yeah, I was."

"What'd you wish for?" Molly asked, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet and looking like it was already Christmas morning.

"I can't tell you that, silly," she said, flicking her nose lightly and causing her to giggle. "Then it won't come true!"

"Oh, yeah." She was only stumped for a little bit before turning back to the window. "Well, which star did you wish on? I want to tell it my wish too!"

"Er…" Kate leaned next to her, searching through the window and preparing what to say if she couldn't find one, but – there. Just overhead there was a faint twinkling star, barely discernible through the plummeting snow, but she pointed to it. "Right there. See?"

Molly let out a small _"oh"_ of awe, before promptly closing her eyes and squeezing the palms of her hands together, her lips forming silent words as she wished.

Kate watched her for a moment, a strange feeling stirring in her chest, and she looked back up to the star, wondering if she was only imagining it winking at her.

 _Of course it's not winking at you, idiot. It's just a hot ball of gas floating around in space, probably already long dead._

That still didn't keep her from sinking onto her knees next to Molly, watching the girl's concentration before she clasped her own hands in front of her, feeling foolish.

Fighting through the absurdity of it all, she closed her eyes as well, thinking silently to herself while picturing the star clearly in her head.

 _I wish I wasn't stuck here anymore. I wish I could see the world and be able to enjoy my life for once. I just want to be out of here already._

She opened her eyes, only to find that the star was gone, hidden from sight by another cloud. Ignoring the sinking in her stomach, she got to her feet and waited for Molly to finish, before taking the girl's hand in her own and departing the room, flicking off the light as she went.

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 **Arda**

 **June 24, TA 2936**

 **Five Years Earlier**

When next Kate awoke, it was to find herself somewhere very, _very_ far away from the group home in Boston.

Her first sensation was that of _wet._ She opened her eyes blearily, hissing in a sharp breath when beating sunlight seared her eyeballs, sending her reeling as her head swam and stars exploded behind her eyelids. She waited until her eyes had adjusted to the brightness before cracking them open again, trying to get her bearings through the tiny slits between her lids.

Not only was she wet, for whatever reason, but she was also outside, as depicted by the brighter-than-hell sun and the itchy grass digging into her back. She turned her head to the left, seeing nothing but the offending grass stretching out for yards, and when she looked to the right she saw much of the same thing.

 _What the hell…?_

She pushed up on her elbows, wincing at the sudden soreness in her limbs. Her clothes from the night before were still on, but they were sopping wet, her T-shirt and sweatpants clinging uncomfortably to her slick skin as if she had just pulled herself out of a swimming pool.

When she heard the sound of rushing water, however, and looked further down the grass to see a gently babbling river, she realized that that was exactly what had happened, only except for a swimming pool, she – or someone else, she realized with a flare of panic – had dragged herself out of the river.

Kate sat up, now more aware than ever, her eyes scanning the empty landscape around her. Where was she? How did she even get here? Had she been kidnapped? The last thing she had remembered was crawling into bed the night before (if it had even _been_ the night before – how long had she been unconscious?) – listening to the slow breaths of Samantha, Hayley, and Abby before falling asleep herself. How could she possibly have ended up… _wherever_ she was?

Her stomach cramped painfully as her anxiety kicked in, but before she could start hyperventilating she was distracted by an unexpected voice.

"Calm yourself, child," the voice spoke, as deep and rumbling as an earthquake, and Kate spun around, her eyes widening. "There is no need to fear when you are in my presence."

On a jut of rock not five feet away sat a man she had never seen before, and despite his words, her unease only grew when she realized that neither he or the rock had been there a moment before. He was huge; even sitting down she guessed he must've been about seven feet tall, and his muscles rippled with every movement he made as he sharpened a very large, very _sharp_ axe on a stone that she had no doubt he could cave her skull in with if he used it on her.

His hair and beard were long and wild, a shade of black so dark it looked obsidian, and upon closer inspection, it looked as if the ends were smoking, like they had just been on fire and he had only put them out seconds ago. Her eyes trailed down the length of his body, catching on the strange tattoos and symbols inked into his dark skin, and the strange dark fabric of his toga, for that was the only thing she could describe it as.

"Are you…are you…" Her voice gave out trying to speak, shock and fear making her clam up, but he did not look at her, only continuing to sharpen his axe.

"I am not a god, if that is what you were wondering," he said in that deep voice, and she could feel the marrow in her bones tremble at the sound. "At least, not one by a name you would know in your world." He cocked his head, considering. "Or perhaps you do. It is hard to see what goes on beyond the gates of this world."

"What am I doing here?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper. "Did-did you take me?"

The man grunted. "That depends on your definition of 'take.'"

Kate was sure she was hallucinating, or having the worst dream of her life, at the least.

"Does 'taking,' in your sense, correlate to kidnapping?" he asked her, still sharpening his axe. Every _schick_ of the blade against the stone made her teeth chatter together, but she tried to keep her mouth closed. "If so, then you are mistaken, Kate Miller. You are here because I summoned you here."

"W-why?"

He paused in his task, turning to face her, and she involuntarily gulped as she met his eyes. They were bright gold and seemed to change and shift in the sunlight, dancing with amber and red and orange and blue, as if she were staring directly into a fire.

"There is a quest," he said simply, "and I want you to join it."

There was a heavy moment of silence in which Kate merely stared blankly at the man, mouth slightly agape.

 _I'm hallucinating. There is no way this is a dream – it feels too real. Fuck, did I accidentally eat Dylan's shrooms or something? Shit. Shit. Shit —_

"You are not hallucinating, or whatever else your human mind is pressuring you to believe," the man said, and his voice held the faintest note of annoyance. "This is very much real."

"But…how?" she croaked. "Where even am I? How did I get here?"

"You are in my world, Arda," he said, going back to his axe. "You might know it by another name: Middle-earth, perhaps?"

 _Middle…? Oh, no. Oh,_ fuck _no._

"I take it you are familiar with it?" he asked, raising a bushy black brow at her silent panic.

 _This is so not happening. They're – they're just books!_ Books! _That I read once, like, three years ago! BOOKS!_

"As for how you got here," continued the man, as if he hadn't just dropped the bombshell of a lifetime on her, "well, that is tricky to explain. Imagine there is a wall separating our two worlds. Sometimes, certain cracks and fissures appear along that wall, and if you wait for the right moment and apply the right amount of pressure – or, magic – you can slip through the holes, and bring someone back through with you, if you so wish. It is complicated, and extremely dangerous, but I got you through all right, eh?"

He looked proud of himself for not destroying her, but she could only focus on the tilting earth around her, forcing herself not to throw up right then.

"Who are you?" she managed to get out.

"Aulë," he said. "However, most know me better as Mahal."

 _Mahal. As in…_

"The one who created the Dwarves, aye," he said, finishing her incomplete thought.

 _That's it. I'm officially insane._

"Are all Men so thickheaded?" he growled when she fell silent again, disbelieving. He scoffed. "And I thought my dwarves were the stubborn ones."

"You've made a mistake," she said, reaching the conclusion that if she wasn't going crazy, then there was some colossal mix-up happening. "I'm not the person you're looking for."

The man (it was too creepy to refer to him as Mahal) cocked a brow at her.

"Your name is Katherine Rose Miller, is it not?"

"Well, yes, but — "

"You are sixteen, and have grown up alone?"

"Yes, but — "

"And you are familiar with this world and its inhabitants, particularly one Thorin Oakenshield?"

Kate choked on her next words, her face blanching, and Mahal – _the man_ – smiled smugly at her, as if catching her in a lie.

"You are aware of the Quest for Erebor, and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, are you not?"

All she could do was stare, but he accepted this as a confirmation.

"Then you are also aware of the destiny that awaits Oakenshield and his heirs," he said, fixing her with a stern gaze, and his eyes seemed to blaze brighter.

"A lot of people know of their quest, and their…fate," she said haltingly, trying not to cringe under his fiery stare. "Perhaps you meant one of them — "

His eyes burned hotter, like glowing twin coals, and she shrank back as he seemed to swell, the air suddenly turning dry and scorching.

"Do not take me as a simpleton who makes careless mistakes, plucking people off the streets at random," he said, and his voice boomed like tectonic plates crashing together under the earth, his gaze turning to molten gold. "I am of the Valar, child, and it is by my will that you are here."

He took a deep breath, and the inferno in his eyes lessened, his voice quieter but still tinged with that same thunder.

"I made a dangerous gamble in bringing you here, Kate Miller," he said. "Even now I can sense the others' anger at having brought an outsider, but I had no choice. Should Oakenshield's quest fail, I fear this world will fall into a darkness unseen before, and perhaps take your own with it, as well."

"But why me?" she asked, her voice small, scared. "I'm only sixteen! I can't do this!"

"It was foretold you would be the one I had to call upon," he said, and she glimpsed a sliver of sympathy on his stony face. "And do not fret, child; I have brought you here before your time of need, to better prepare you for the journey you will have to take.

"You have five years to do as you see fit in this world. I shall not interfere over this course of time, for it is yours to decide what to do with. However, I will be watching you, and when the time comes to fulfill your task and join with Oakenshield, hear me when I say that you should heed my request, Kate Miller. Or your punishment will be severe."

Kate gulped, her eyes flicking toward the giant axe in his hands, and she knew then that whatever punishment he was talking about would be infinitely worse than just getting her head chopped off by that thing.

"This task…" she said, her voice a bit stronger. "What am I supposed to do?"

He stared at her as if her question was outrageous. "Well, that should be obvious. Keep any of them from dying, and help them reclaim their homeland."

 _Right,_ Kate thought in a daze. _Because trying to keep people alive and taking back a kingdom from a fire-breathing dragon are reasonable requests. How silly of me to think I couldn't do this. I do this every day back home._

"That's the spirit," the man – _oh, all right_ – Mahal said, smirking to his axe.

"My home," she said. "What about it? Will I ever be able to get back?"

Mahal grunted. "Perhaps. If you succeed in your task, then we can talk."

"I want to make a deal," she said quickly, and he squinted at her, but she kept talking before she could lose her nerve. "If I complete the quest, and do as you asked, then I want you to send me back to my world at the end of all this."

"You realize that might take a while, even years, aye?"

She wouldn't allow herself to be cowed, not any longer. She raised a pointed brow. "Then I suggest you get to work."

She held her breath as he scowled at her, but he seemed to ponder on her words, his eyes tracking over her face with a calculating gaze.

"Very well," he said at last, and some of the tension in her shoulders dropped. "You have a deal, Kate Miller, so long as I have your word that you will aid Oakenshield and his quest."

She hesitated, her jaw working. There was a lot to process, and she still thought he had made a mistake somehow, but she was here, wasn't she? And even though Charlie had only lent her Tolkien's books once, she had still enjoyed them, still grieved for all the characters' deaths. And now she had a chance to put a stop to it and save those same people. Thoughts aside about how the books possibly exist in her world before the same events happened in this one, she could help. She could be _useful._ It was just as she had wished upon that star: an adventure, a chance to escape that dreadful foster system and live her life – a _free_ life.

"Done," she said, meeting Mahal's eyes squarely for the first time. "You have my word."

The Vala smiled then, his eyes blazing like an inferno.

"Excellent," he said. "Then your journey starts now, Kate Miller. Do try not to make too much of a mess of things."

And with that encouraging advice, he snapped his fingers, disappearing in a haze of smoke while somewhere, far to the west, Thorin Oakenshield awoke to the sound of thunder and the undeniable sensation in his bones that somehow, the winds of fortune had changed.

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 **Please review! Let me know if there's anything you liked, disliked, etc. I love hearing from my readers!**

 **xx**


	2. A Fateful Night

**Disclaimer:** _All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

 **Hello all!**

 **I would like to thank everyone who reached out over these last weeks and offered their support and condolences. It means the world to me to know that I have such thoughtful and amazing readers. But, as they say, you just have to roll with the punches, so that is what I am going to do.**

 **Thank you for the amazing response to the first chapter, and thank you to those of you who reviewed and/or reached out: Queen MariaTheresia, Pint-sized She-Bear, MissCallaLilly, SunnySides, Tibblets, ChizomenoHime, durinsdaughter2469btw, Jinx1223, wolfenrose14, SilverLark25, Sparky She-Demon, Ccs, Star Gazer, Rosmund Chadwick, ro781727, Guest 1, Guest 2, and Guest 3!**

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Chapter Two: A Fateful Night

 **Arda**

 **May 4, TA 2941**

 **Five Years Later**

Kate had never liked Bree.

Perhaps it had something to do with the smell; mud and excrement always seemed to permeate the air in the village of Men, turning it sour and noxious, and in the warm summer months it became worse, particularly when the nauseating scent of the slaughterhouses were blown upwind, the flies following close behind. She slapped one of the said flies away from her cheek as she made her way up the main street of the village, leading her horse by the reins through the sucking mud, careful to avoid the carts and wagons clogging the area.

Merchant season was in full swing, travelers from all walks of realms seeking rest and shelter within the dingy village. Kate bypassed their stalls and wares, boasting fine silks from the Eastlands, or supple leather supplies brought from Rohan and other trinkets and finery from Mahal-knows-where. The merchants weren't very likely to receive many high-paying customers in Bree, where most of the inhabitants were either farmers or millers or shopkeepers, but the villagers still puttered about curiously, their conversations teeming with gossip and speculation.

"C'mon, girl," Kate said, clucking her tongue and pulling on her mare's reins lightly, steering her away from the thickest of the crowd, where people were beginning to take interest in the lone woman and her horse. "This way."

The sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon, the shadows between the shops and shanties lengthening at her feet, the air becoming cooler on her sweaty brow. She could hear the chirping of crickets as she made her way to the top of the hill, where her destination was set proudly on display: The Prancing Pony.

It had been some odd months since she had last seen the inn, but it looked the same as ever: the windows still beckoned with cheery golden light, the scents of ale and warm bread temporarily overtaking the rest of the stench, with the same old, peeling sign swinging haphazardly above the door, depicting a rearing horse with chipped lettering beneath it spelling out the name of the inn.

Her stomach rumbling at the thought of Mrs. Butterbur's famous stew, she led her horse to the back of the inn where the stables were, nodding at the boy who came to help her.

"Evening, miss," he said, tipping his thatched cap. He couldn't have been older than fifteen, but the dirt on his face made it difficult to tell. "How long will you be keeping your horse here?"

"Oh, a few days, at the most," she said. "Could be more, could be less."

The boy looked to her curiously. "No business, then?"

She quirked a brow, waving a hand to her rugged appearance. "Do I look like a fine merchant to you?"

"I wouldn't say merchant, but I would be bold to agree with 'fine,'" he said, grinning mischievously, and her brow rose higher. _Cheeky little thing._

"Bold, indeed," she said, and his grin widened. "However, you _are_ a bit young for me, unfortunately."

"I'll be sixteen at the end of the month," he boasted, standing taller.

"And I'll be twenty-two," she said drily, "but good effort."

He shrugged modestly, taking her horse's reins from her. "That'll be two silvers."

"Two?" she said, narrowing her eyes. "It was one and a copper the last time I was here."

"Mr. Butterbur upped the price to two silvers and a copper," he said. "I'm giving you the discount here."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Thank you. I'm sure you helping me save me that one copper will make a world of difference."

He smirked. "I could charge you full price."

"Oh, fine." She removed the coin pouch from her waist, fishing out two silver pieces and dropping them into his outstretched hand.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said, winking. "I'm Ben, by the way. Just ask for me whenever you need to be off again."

"Thanks," she said, turning away from the stables after giving her horse one last nose rub.

"Oi!" he called after her. "Don't I get your name too?"

"Perhaps when you're older," she said over her shoulder, chuckling at the incredulous look on his face as she rounded the corner to the inn. She stepped inside the low building, the din immediately sweltering her in noise as she approached the small desk where the books were kept, having to ring the bell twice before Mr. Butterbur puffed over, his face red and shiny with sweat.

"Miss Miller!" he boomed upon seeing her, his voice carrying over the rowdy talk and laughter of the patrons drinking in the bar behind them. "Good to see you, good to see you! It's been some time, hasn't it?"

"Eleven months or so," she said, nodding. The innkeeper always remembered a face, as she had come to know during her stay a while back, and burly and bear-like though he was, he was a kindly soul. "How's Anne?"

"Wonderful as ever," he said, opening up his ledger. "You know she had a babe? A beautiful boy; named him after myself! Barliman the Second!"

"You have a son?" she said. "Barley, that's incredible!"

His chest swelled with pride as he jotted her name down, his face becoming ruddier, but she could see how pleased he was.

"Thank you, thank you…" he said. He pulled out a key from beneath the desk and handed it to her. "Room number thirteen, last right on the second floor. Will you be joining us for some food and ale?"

"I wouldn't miss your wife's lovely cooking for the world, Barley," she said, winking. "Let me toss my things upstairs and I'll be back down."

Satisfied, he nodded and went back behind the bar while she headed up the stairs, emerging onto the second landing. She found her door and unlocked it, entering a bland but comfortable room, fitted with a single bed, a wardrobe, a nightstand, and even a little desk set up in the corner, connected to a smaller space that held a basin of water and a bar of lye soap.

Kate dumped her belongings on the bed, a small rucksack filled with only the basic necessities with a bedroll tied to the top. She had always preferred to travel lightly, never knowing what could happen the next day and not wanting to be bogged down by too many things in case she had to make a run for it. Middle-earth, she had learned, was no picnic, and it took her soon enough to start having some wits about her in this place.

After freshening up a bit using the water and soap she ventured back downstairs, scanning the packed room for an empty seat. Ducking through the boisterous crowd, she eventually came to a lonely little table hidden in the back corner behind the hearth, and she took a seat, pulling out the deck of playing cards she kept with her at all times.

"Miss Miller!" Barley's wife greeted as she came over, plunking down a tankard of ale before her. "Barley told me you had whirled in again! What brings you to Bree this time 'round?"

Kate looked up to the redhaired, freckled woman, meeting her curious eyes. Though Anne closely resembled a cherub, in her opinion, the innkeeper's wife was as sharp as a blade, and had a knack for knowing when people were lying to her or her husband.

"Just passing through," Kate said easily, beginning to set up her cards for a game of clock solitaire. "I came from Rohan; I bought a horse there and trained her before coming back west. She's out in the stables, if you'd like to see her tomorrow. Her name's Molly."

"You know, I think I'd like that," she said, giving her a gap-toothed grin. "Did Barley tell you the good news?"

"Of course," she said. "Congratulations, to both of you! I'll bet he's adorable."

"A right bugger, is what he is," Anne snorted, but Kate could see the fondness in her eyes. "Keeps me up all night! Aye, but he's sweeter than a peach, that one. I'll have to introduce you."

Kate smiled. "I'd like that. And I'd also like some of your excellent stew, if you don't mind."

Anne winked at her. "Already warming some up for you, darlin'. I'll bring it over in a moment."

Kate thanked her as she whisked away, going back to her card game. She'd been taught it as a kid growing up in the group home, and she'd often play it whenever she got too bored or lonely, a habit that had crossed over with her whenever Mahal had summoned her to this world five years prior.

Adjusting to Middle-earth had been the hardest challenge in Kate's life so far (she dared not think of the looming quest just yet), and for her first six months here, she had made sure to curse Mahal's name every single day for taking her from Boston. Her first week had been particularly grueling, but what else had she expected after showing up in some random village of Men, starved and half-mad with thirst and dressed in the oddest clothes the villagers had ever seen? The attention had been extremely uncomfortable, and once she had been fed and watered and given a change of spare clothes that had belonged to the butcher's dead son, she had been on her way, anxious to escape their scrutiny.

In Boston, she had assumed complete anonymity; with so many people, a lone sixteen-year-old girl was nothing out of the ordinary, but in Middle-earth, it had made her a target for gossip and potentially other sinister things. It wasn't uncommon here for teenagers to run amok without parents or a family, but as small and rural as the villages were, a stranger was hardly welcomed, and even more so, a pinpoint for rumors and speculation.

She had spent a year flitting from village to village in a place she had learned was called Dunland, sleeping on stacks of hay in barns or beneath the stars in pastures when the nights were clear and cool. She had lost a significant amount of weight, as well, since food was scarce and she had no money, and after she had stolen a loaf of bread and some cheese for the first time she had cried herself sick and refused to eat for two days as punishment to herself, so thieving was out of the question. She began to ask for work where she could, but no one wanted to hire someone so young, especially a girl.

The week after her seventeenth birthday, however (she tried to keep up with the days and months as best she could), she found her saving grace in the old, shriveled form of a crone named Reyna, who had owned an apothecary in a nameless village along the Great East Road.

Blind as a bat and meaner than a bull, Reyna had taken an interest in Kate when the girl once dropped in for a jar of salve to apply to her burned fingertips, which had been singed in her campfire the night before.

"How'd you manage something like that?" the old woman had asked her as she sifted through her pockets, trying to find loose change to pay for the salve.

"It was an accident," Kate had grumbled, too embarrassed to admit that she had tripped while trying to swordfight with a stick (even though she had no idea how to use a sword in the first place).

"Some accident," she had replied after checking her burns. "Are you sure you aren't just stupid?"

"Are you sure _you_ aren't and been mistaking it for blindness this whole time?" Kate had snapped, her frazzled nerves and consuming terror over being pitched headfirst into this strange world and now being mocked by some old lady making her temper spill over.

There had been a heartbeat of silence before the woman threw back her head and laughed, her coarse voice like the caw of a crow.

"Feisty little thing," she had said after she had calmed. "You want a job?"

Kate had blinked; she just insulted this woman, and now she wanted to hire her? When Kate had asked her why, the woman had just grinned with yellow teeth.

"You amuse me," had been her simple reply. "Come in tomorrow morning. And call me Reyna; don't bother with any of that 'ma'am' horseshit."

And so Kate had worked there for several months, learning which herbs would cure what, which ones could be used as poisons, and even learning how to heal some minor injuries when the villagers would show up with broken bones or bleeding gashes. Reyna had become her mentor, but even more than that, Kate's first friend in Middle-earth. Though annoying and crass at times, she had been lively and wise, and thanks to her, Kate adapted more quickly to her new world until she had become almost comfortable with her new lot in life. She had even trusted Reyna enough to tell her of the task Mahal had assigned her to, and though she had been skeptical at first, she had soon come to accept it. Things changed for Kate, however, and five months after she had begun to work under Reyna, the old woman had fallen ill, and nothing could cure her.

"Please don't leave me," Kate had cried by her beside one night. It had been raining outside, and that combined with the throes of Reyna's struggling breaths had been the only sounds. "I can't do this alone. I-I'm so scared."

That had been the first time Kate had ever admitted that thought aloud. Surviving in Middle-earth, the quest she would have to take… She couldn't do it. Mahal had made a colossal mistake in choosing her. She didn't know how to fight, how to hunt, how to take care of herself in this strange land. All she could do was tell the difference between weeds and suture some skin. She was useless, and she was afraid.

"You are a fighter, Kate Miller," Reyna had said, her voice rasping throughout the small room they were occupying behind the shop. "Mahal chose you because you are a survivor. Look here."

She had brushed one of her worn fingers across the inside of Kate's right wrist, and the younger girl had flinched as she pulled up her sleeve, revealing the parting gift Mahal had left her more than a year before: a tattoo of a crown, inked in black, with seven stars marked above it – her terrifying reminder of what she had yet to face. The mark she had not told anyone about but Reyna.

"His blessing follows you, even now," Reyna had said. "Fight, Kate Miller. Thrive. Become the best you can be. I know you will do…great things…"

And just like that, she had stopped breathing.

Kate had only stayed for a week more after that. Reyna, as it turned out, had left her a sizeable amount of money in her will, and combined with her coins she had saved from working, she could now afford to carve out a life for herself somewhere else. And so, after the funeral – in which she and the gravedigger had been the only ones present – she hitched a ride on a spice wagon heading out of the village and had never looked back, taking Reyna's advice and doing her best to thrive in Middle-earth.

She learned stories and lore and songs from the merchants she traveled with and in the pubs they would frequent, even catching onto some phrases in other languages, like Elvish or Dwarvish. She could calculate currency rates and barter like a merchant, and slowly, she began to acclimate more and more into Middle-earth society.

She met hobbits and dwarves, but preferred to stick with the race of Men – fantasy creatures still made her leery, even if she now knew they were real and shared an entire world with them, and elves were simply out of the question. She had been told they were a dwindling, secretive bunch, and that suited her just fine. She was not one to run off in search of adventure, and in her opinion, the elves could stay hidden.

She traveled frequently, nonetheless, though kept strictly in the territories of Men, and west of the Misty Mountains (figuring she would, quite literally, cross them when she came to them). Her favorite place by far had been Rohan, where she had spent the last two years training her horse and learning how to fight under the guidance of Rodric, son of Rodrhim. In the months since her departure to Bree, she often found herself thinking of him, and wondered if when all was said and done, she would get a chance to say goodbye to him before returning to her own world.

Those five years had accumulated to now, with her sitting in The Prancing Pony, playing clock solitaire, drinking ale, and occasionally spooning a bite of stew into her mouth. Despite her relaxed outward appearance, however, Kate was very much alert, keeping her ears pricked and her eyes roving, hesitating on the door to the inn every so often. She fingered the tattoo on the inside of her forearm anxiously, beginning to wonder if she had timed her arrival correctly. The details of Tolkien's books had become hazy over the years, but the Company had departed Hobbiton at the end of April, if she remembered right. And they would undoubtedly have to stop for supplies or comfort before truly setting out on the Road, which had led her to Bree in the first place, as it was on the route they would be taking. She even had it traced on the map she kept in her breast pocket.

It was nearly midnight when Kate's patience began to thin. After two bowls of stew, several ales that she was sure her head would not thank her for later, and countless games of cards, the inn had slowly begun to dwindle, until it was only her and several other patrons still seated in the bar.

 _Where the hell are they?_ she thought in annoyance. _Hey, Mahal – care to give me a sign or something? What do you even do all day? Help me, here!_

"You look exhausted, Kate."

Kate started in her chair, her head snapping up from where it had been drooping towards the table. Anne was standing with her hands on her hips, wearing a nightgown and thick woolen robe and looking down at the tired woman.

"'m fine," she mumbled, stifling a yawn – unconvincingly, she might add.

Anne's brows inched higher up her forehead. "You were about to start drooling on my table. Why don't you get yourself on up to bed?"

"No!" Kate said, a bit too quickly, and she grimaced when those brows nearly disappeared into the other woman's hairline. "I mean, no, thank you. "I, er, I'm waiting on somebody."

Anne scoffed. "Really, lass, of all the men in this village you choose _Ben?_ Don't be fooled, the boy is far too young — "

"Ben?" Kate repeated. "As in the stable boy?"

When Anne merely nodded, looking suspicious, Kate nearly choked. _"Valar,_ no! Not him! Somebody else…"

She trailed off when Anne continued to look dubious, sighing and rubbing her temples. "I'm fine, Anne, really. Please, I just…this is important."

Anne's eyes tracked over the younger woman for a long moment, until she finally dropped her arms, nodding. "Aye, I see that. You never do anything without reason, Kate Miller, I know that. Just be careful, aye? We get a lot of strange folk who roam in here after the moon's peak."

 _That's what I'm counting on._

Kate nodded, smiling faintly. "Thanks, Anne. I will."

Satisfied, the innkeeper's wife retreated to her private room with her husband and son, leaving Kate alone at her table. The three merchants who had been the only ones left with her had finally fallen asleep at their table, their drunken snores the only sound in the empty bar.

Kate shuffled her playing cards apprehensively, trying to keep her hands busy so she could stay awake, but her movements were becoming sloppy, sluggish. It seemed her long days of traveling had caught up to her, and the ale she had consumed was making her head fuzzy and thick, like she had been stuffed with cotton.

The night slowly began to wane into the wee hours of the morning, and by three o'clock, Kate was fast asleep, snoring just as loudly as the merchants only a few seats away. Perhaps it had been for the best that night; the Company of Thorin Oakenshield would not crest the Brandywine River until the dawn of that day, and they would not be in Bree until mid-morning, well after when Kate would have expected them.

Kate, of course, would not find out about this until she was awoken by Anne the next morning, still passed out at her table and with an ace of spades stuck to her cheek. And Kate, of course, would instantly be out the door of The Prancing Pony, tearing through the streets until she found someone who was not supposed to be real, but decidedly was.

And needless to say, Gandalf the Grey found it quite an odd sight to see a young woman barreling towards him that fine May morning, and there was only one thought that crossed his mind as she approached: _Well, this should be interesting._

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	3. A King and a Madwoman

**Disclaimer:** _All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

 **Welcome back! I honestly was too lazy to go back through and edit this chapter so if there's any mistakes I apologize in advance. Feel free to shame me.**

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Chapter Three: A King and a Madwoman

Thorin Oakenshield was not pleased.

He and his Company had arrived that morning to Bree, one of the last civilized stops they would encounter on their journey, for the chance of some last-minute purchases and ale, and not to mention their last stay in a warm bed with a roof over their heads and hot food in their bellies before they set out on the Road again. What he had not expected, however, was to meet a madwoman claiming that she knew of their quest, and that she wished to join it.

"I must say, this is quite a shock," Gandalf said to the woman, puffing on his pipe as they sat around a large center table in The Prancing Pony's lounge. Thorin was already distinctly uncomfortable at the appearance of this strange woman, but being seated in the middle of the room only increased his nerves, and he couldn't help but to sweep the area with his eyes frequently, the reminder of his last visit here still fresh in his mind.

"Believe me, I know the feeling," the woman grunted, taking a sip from her ale and wrinkling her nose at the taste. Thorin drank from his own tankard, the bitterness of the ale only causing him to scowl further.

"And where did you say you hailed from, Miss…?" Gandalf trailed off, raising a bushy brow in question, and she grinned.

"Miller," she said. "Kate Miller. And I come from Boston."

"Where is that?" Dwalin growled, eyeing the woman distrustfully and echoing Thorin's thoughts exactly. "I've never heard of it."

"I wouldn't expect you to," she said nonchalantly, and her airy tone made Dwalin glower even more at her, though she didn't seem fazed. "It's certainly not from anywhere around here."

"And what does that mean?" Balin asked shrewdly. He had sat in silence this whole time, like Thorin, but he sounded more curious than critical. "I would say it sounds like something far to the east, but you don't look like an Easterling."

Indeed, she did not, Thorin silently agreed. Easterlings were a dark-skinned people, with hair even darker and eyes that appeared obsidian in the right light. To Thorin, she looked like a northerner, similar to the Snowmen of Forochel, with her fair hair and skin, though he had had enough dealings with them to notice that she did not share their accent.

The woman hesitated, her eyes shifting between the wizard and the three dwarves seated around her. Thorin had sent the rest of the Company on their errands for supplies after the woman had approached Gandalf and demanded to speak with him and Thorin, but he wondered if he should have gone with them instead of listening to this strange woman weave words with riddles.

"I'm not from the east, nor was I born anywhere in this world," she said slowly, and Thorin exchanged a confused glance with Dwalin and Balin. What was she talking about?

"What are ye on about?" Dwalin said, echoing Thorin's thoughts. "That doesn't make a lick of sense."

"I know it doesn't," she said hastily. "But just…hear me out, okay?" She took a deep breath, meeting each of their gazes steadily. "Arda, Middle-earth, whatever you want to call it, is not my home. I'm from a different world, somewhere very, very far away from here."

"The bloody hell is that supposed to mean—" Dwalin started, but Gandalf held up a hand, silencing the dwarf as he stared at the woman intently. Wondering what wheels were turning in the wizard's head, Thorin listened in disbelief as she continued.

"When I was sixteen, I made a wish on a star." Her face flushed a light shade of red at this admission, and Dwalin scoffed under his breath, though she didn't seem to hear. "My life at the time…I thought it was terrible. I was miserable, and I wanted out. And the next thing I knew, I was here."

She paused, licking her lips nervously. "I met someone upon my arrival – one of the Valar. Aulë, but you know him better as Mahal."

Thorin stiffened, his eyes darting to meet the shocked glances of Balin and Dwalin. Knowing the name of a Vala was no special thing, considering how widely known they were, but actually _meeting_ one was as ludicrous as it sounded. Thorin had no doubt that this woman was mad, but he continued to listen in stony silence.

"He told me that there would be a quest, one that you would lead, Thorin Oakenshield." She gestured to him, and Thorin's eye twitched slightly as his name rolled off her foreign tongue. "He asked me to help you reclaim the Lonely Mountain, and kill the dragon Smaug."

"Keep yer voice down!" Dwalin hissed, leaning closer to the table and looking around wildly. "Do ye want the whole damn inn to hear?"

She gave the burly dwarf a dry look. "Must you be so paranoid?"

Dwalin bristled at her tone, but Balin steadied him with a hand on his arm. "Not now, brother. Let's listen to what she has to say."

The dwarf glowered, but sat up straight again at his brother's request. The woman nodded her thanks to Balin, and went on.

"He gave me five years to live on my own in this world, and become accustomed to it. I could do whatever I saw fit to help me prepare for this journey, and so that is what I did. I learned basic healing methods, was taught how to ride a horse properly, studied maps and scrolls that pertained to the mountain and the dragon, and I even trained to fight, all in preparation for this day and the days to come."

"I'm sorry, Miss Miller, but I must agree with my brother on this matter," Balin said. "This doesn't make sense. You say Mahal asked you to help us, but why would you agree? You are a daughter of Man – why would he have asked you, and not a dwarf?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Master Balin," she said, shrugging. "Perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was something else – perhaps it was foolish little me making a silly wish on a silly star.

"As for why I would agree, I want to help you. And not only that, but because I made a deal with Mahal."

"What sort of deal?" Balin said curiously.

"That if I helped you reclaim your home and rid it of the dragon, he would send me back to my world once the quest was completed," she said. Thorin saw a faint glimmer in her eyes then, one of longing and hope, before she blinked, and it was gone, her face unreadable once more.

"This is madness," Dwalin growled, shaking his head. "You're a fine liar, lass, I'll give ye that, but yer full of shite."

"Brother!" Balin said reproachfully. "That is no way to speak to a lady, liar or no!"

"I understand your hesitance to believe me," she said, breaking in before Dwalin could retort. "I would be skeptical too if I were in your place. But I swear I am telling you the truth."

"If you're telling the truth, then I'm a tree-shagging elf," Dwalin snorted, and the woman's lips twitched.

"A meeting with the Valar is a rare occurrence, but not an impossible one," Gandalf mused, his head wreathed in smoke. "I believe there have been several accounts of this in the past, all in times of dire need. But it is strange that Aulë would choose you for this task, unless he had some reason to believe that you have some valuable skill or knowledge that we do not."

He eyed her shrewdly, and she shrugged again, causing Thorin to grit his teeth. Her casual demeanor was starting to grate on his nerves, acting as if she were above them all and deserved to be obeyed without question.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," she said loftily. "But there's only one way to find out."

"Enough of this," Thorin said, breaking his stoic silence and glaring at the woman. She looked back to him innocently, and he felt his fingers clench beneath the table. "You are a liar seeking nothing but attention and to waste our time with your foolishness. You have no proof whatsoever other than your supposed _word,_ and—"

"I do, actually," she said, cutting off the rest of his sentence. His eyes narrowed at her as he silently fumed, unused to being interrupted. "Proof, that is," she said to their dubious looks.

"And what proof would that be?" Thorin said scathingly.

She hesitated only briefly, pursing her lips at his tone, before reaching for her right forearm. Immediately the dwarves' own hands were on their weapons, but she merely rolled her eyes.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, I'm not going to gut you in the middle of this room," she said. She shook her head, muttering something under her breath as she began to roll up the sleeve of her grey tunic.

Thorin saw it first, the mark upon her arm: a dark blotch of ink etched into the inside of her wrist, and when she turned her arm over and bared the mark for them to see, he felt his breath whoosh out of him in shock.

The Crown of Durin was inked into her flesh, a black contrast to the freckled and fair, suntanned expanse of her forearm. The sigil of his house. The sign of his bloodline. And it was sitting right there on her skin.

"How did you get this?" he asked quietly.

"It was branded into my skin by Mahal after our deal was made," she said, and he didn't miss the note of bitterness in her voice. "It serves as a reminder for the duty I have to fulfill, and proof for stubborn dwarves who would not believe me."

She gave them a pointed glance at this, but Thorin was still staring at the marking in disbelief.

"Well, this is a surprising turn of events," Gandalf said cheerfully, nodding at her wrist and stowing away his pipe.

"Wait, ye believe her?" Dwalin demanded. "All because of a bloody _tattoo?_ I've got more tattoos than ye can count, and ye don't see me claiming to be the savior of the damn world!"

"I'm not a savior," the woman snapped. "I'm just a helper."

"Because Mahal gave ye a special tattoo," he said patronizingly, and Thorin saw her jaw clench in anger. "Bleeding thing is probably fake, anyway—"

He reached out, grabbing her wrist, but froze instantly. Thorin and Balin stood up roughly, scraping their chairs back as the dwarf's eyes widened, and Thorin whirled on the woman. _"What are you doing—"_

Dwalin let go of the woman's wrist, staggering back into his chair and slumping down, his grey eyes still wide as saucers and breathing heavily.

"Brother, what happened?" Balin demanded. _"Nadad—"_

"Mahal," Dwalin said weakly. "Mahal…"

"What did you do to him?" Thorin growled, keeping his voice low despite wanting to bellow at her, the few patrons that were scattered about giving them curious looks.

"I-I don't know," she stammered, looking as shaken as Dwalin. "He-he just grabbed me, and—"

"I heard him," Dwalin said hoarsely. "I…I _felt_ him."

"What?" Balin said, perplexed. "Impossible!"

"Touch it," Dwlain insisted, his voice stronger. "Touch the tattoo."

Balin looked from his brother to the woman skeptically, but finally nodded. The woman stretched out her arm warily, and Balin wrapped his large hand around her wrist, right over the tattoo. In mere seconds his face had gone ashy, and he took a step back, letting out a shaky breath.

"Aye," the white-haired dwarf said. "He's right."

Thorin stared. "What are you talking about?"

Balin shook his head, his lips pursed. "This you have to find out yourself."

Thorin hesitated, looking to the woman, but it was only the offering of her arm that goaded him closer. He raised his hand, placing it over the marking, and immediately a jolt went through him.

 _"Thorin Oakenshield,"_ an ancient voice said. _"Heed my words, and know that they are true: You need her. She is your only chance for survival. She is the Heart."_

It was over in a split second. Thorin recoiled from her as if he had been burned, that powerful voice still reverberating in his ears.

Gandalf looked around at all of them before his piercing eyes settled on the woman curiously. "May I?"

He touched the tattoo with his fingertip, holding it there for several long moments before drawing it away, humming in confusion. "Interesting. The enchantment only seems to work on dwarves." He chuckled. "Understandable, given their stubborn nature."

Thorin exchanged a glance with the others, the only question between them remaining: What were they to do now?

"Mahal chose her," Balin said, answering their silent question aloud. "You heard him yourselves. We need her."

"Aye," Dwalin said, nodding. "I don't know what for, but we can't ignore our Maker's demand. Thorin?"

They looked to their king-in-exile, who was still standing rigidly and processing all that had just transpired. At his friend's insistence, however, he dragged himself out of his thoughts long enough to look from his companions to the woman.

"She comes," he said grudgingly, and they nodded. He turned back to the woman, who had been watching the proceedings with an indecipherable expression, still holding her wrist.

"Gather what you need today," he told her gruffly. "We leave on the morrow."

 _And I pray I won't come to regret this._

* * *

Kate retired to her room for the night, her head pounding and her limbs dragging. After the disaster that had taken place that morning with Thorin Oakenshield, she had run around Bree for hours, collecting all that she needed for her long journey and returning to The Prancing Pony with her coin purse considerably lighter than she had started the day with.

She supposed she should feel excited, or at least nervous – she was finally going on the quest with Thorin Oakenshield and his Company and upholding her deal with Mahal, but all she felt was an intense surge of dread.

The three dwarves she had met that morning had been nothing like they were described in Tolkien's books. She had been in Middle-earth long enough to know that not all dwarves looked like they had walked straight out of _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,_ but Thorin Oakenshield and his companions had been…not quite what she had anticipated.

She had met few dwarves during her travels, and they had mostly been from the east, of Ered Mithrin or the Iron Hills, despite Ered Luin in the west, where Thorin's Company came from. They had been short and stocky, almost the size of children compared to her, and they had been uproariously loud and wild.

Thorin Oakenshield was not like that at all. He had been taller than the other dwarves – still not as quite as tall as her, but at least she didn't feel like a giant compared to him and his companions. And where she had grown accustomed to the long and elaborately-braided beards of the dwarves, his had been short and well-kempt, worn close to his sharp jaw, the raven color matching that of his longer hair, though it had also been streaked with grey. She hadn't been prepared for his eyes, either – a stark blue that stood out clearly in his angular face, and his demeanor was no less striking. He was stoic and silent, a person who clearly enjoyed brooding, and she had wondered if he had ever laughed in his life when she first came face-to-face with him.

Dwalin and Balin had been a shock, as well. Balin was more familiar to her: shorter, plumper, and with a long white beard that flipped elegantly at the ends. Dwalin, however, was the most frightening person she had seen, Man or Dwarf. Despite his height, he was corded with muscle and bulked in armor, and his weapons seemed just as lethal as he. The chunk missing from his right ear and the tattoos inked on his bald head only heightened his dangerous appearance, and she had made a mental note to herself to never get on his bad side again.

She had yet to meet any of the others besides Gandalf and the three dwarves she had spoken with earlier, but the wizard had advised her to leave the introductions until the morning. Convincing the other members of the Company that she was to be traveling with them was going to be a long and arduous task, one that would not be any easier if her presence was there, he had explained, and she had silently agreed. She'd gotten a glimpse of them in the tavern on her way through to her room, and they had all seemed to be in the midst of a heated argument. That, she had decided, was a problem for tomorrow rather than today.

She made her way into the room, shoving the door shut with her foot as she dumped her new purchases on her bed, debating whether she had the strength to pack tonight or the time to pack in the morning. She sighed, scrubbing her hand over her eyes before turning back to the door, preparing to lock it, when she saw someone standing in front of it.

She yelped, stumbling back into her bed and reaching for the sword she had hidden under the mattress, before stopping when the man in her room began to chuckle.

"Oh, great, it's you," she said, rolling her eyes and straightening herself, embarrassed now at her reaction. "What do you want?"

"Your words are arrows, Kate Miller," Mahal said. "They wound me."

She sighed, sitting down on the edge of her bed and beginning to unlace her boots, ignoring the Vala that was currently standing in her room. He had reverted to a reasonable height, thank goodness – she didn't want to have to explain to Anne why there had been a hole in the ceiling – and he was dressed like a regular blacksmith, but his eyes still glowed with fire.

"What do you want?" she repeated, yanking her boots off with more force than was necessary. "You drop me off in this shithole of a world for five years with nothing but a stupid tattoo, and now you're here – to what? Congratulate me? Send me back home?"

"We have a deal, Kate Miller," he said sternly, crossing his arms. "And that 'stupid tattoo,' as you call it, is what binds you to that oath."

"I know, I know," she said, rolling her eyes again. "Is there a specific reason why you're here though? Because I gotta sleep if you want me to be of any help on this quest."

Mahal was unamused at her behavior. Not that she could blame him. She was being an ass, but she knew it was justified, and he seemed to know it too, since he didn't smite her on the spot.

"I came to make sure that you are prepared for what lies ahead," he said, and she snorted.

"You asked me to trek halfway across the world and kill a dragon to take back a kingdom while making sure no one died," she said. "I'm as prepared as I'll ever be, which means not at all."

Mahal scowled. "Your sarcasm in such matters annoys me."

"Join the club," she muttered under her breath, and he sighed laboriously, as if sensing he was fighting a lost cause.

He nodded to her wrist. "It seemed my mark worked, though. At least you have already completed the challenge of joining Thorin Oakenshield's Company."

She frowned at the area he had indicated, fingering the tattoo thoughtfully. "What did you do to it?" she asked. "The dwarves, when they touched me… They said they heard you speak to them. How?"

"I enchanted it," he said simply, as if it should be obvious. "I knew my dwarves would need convincing somehow."

"But why didn't you tell me about it?" she demanded. "And how come Gandalf couldn't hear anything, but I could, if it was only meant for the dwarves?"

Mahal looked surprised, though it was hard to tell on his stony features. "You heard something?"

She nodded slowly. "When Thorin touched me, I heard what you said to him. What did you mean? That I was 'the Heart?'"

"That was not meant for your ears," he grumbled, and she frowned when he did not answer her. Perhaps he had meant it not quite so literally, that she was just the heart of the quest and everyone would adore her. She did have the personality for it…

"Whatever," she said, flopping back on the mattress and trying not to think of how long it would be until she got to sleep on another one. "Is there anything else?"

"I wish you good fortune, Kate Miller," he said, and if he didn't irritate her so much she would've been touched by the note of sincerity in his voice. However, that thought quickly faded when he added, "Try not to die."

She sat back up, opening her mouth to retort, but the Vala was already gone, the only evidence he had ever been in the room being the flickering candle by her bedside that had not been lit before.

* * *

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	4. A Bad Beginning

**Disclaimer:** _All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

 **Welcome back! I enjoyed writing this chapter a lot, for some reason. There are still some introductions to be made and a quest to begin, however, but we're getting there.**

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Chapter Four: A Bad Beginning

Despite her exhaustion, Kate found it difficult to sleep that night. Her conversation with Mahal had dredged up every fear and apprehension she had about the quest, coming to simmer on the surface no matter how hard she tried to ignore them. It was finally happening.

After five years, the quest was truly beginning. Kate had been doubtful during her tenure living in Middle-earth, that there was no quest after all, that she was acting out some fever dream or had been knocked into a coma somehow, but her time had finally come. Thorin Oakenshield had welcomed her into his company (grudgingly, but still), and now she was to set out to help them reclaim their homeland from the dragon Smaug.

She tossed and turned well into the night, her anxiety making her twitchy, and she cursed Mahal – first for getting her into this mess to begin with when he had kidnapped her all those years ago, and second for showing up unannounced in her room and giving her the sage advice of, _Try not to die._ Because that had been _so_ helpful.

Kate was not a warrior; she knew how to defend herself with a sword well enough, and knew some offensive moves if she ever needed to use them, but she was no seasoned swordswoman. She knew how to heal, but only minor wounds and mild illnesses, and she had learned quickly enough that she was a shit hunter. She would be of no use in Thorin's company, besides her "foresight," but even that she was reluctant to reveal, if she even could. Mahal had made no mention of how much information she could give the company, but did she want to tell them anyway? _"Hey, so, just a heads up, but three of you are totally fated to die at the end of this quest, but no worries! Everything is fine because I'm here, and I'm supposed to prevent that from happening!"_

Yes, that would go over _splendidly._

 _Why me?_ she thought miserably. _Out of all the people in this world and mine, why me?_

She had no answers, and since Mahal didn't come to annoy her again, she figured that that was a question that would probably never receive a response.

It was well after midnight when she decided that sleep would elude her for the rest of the night, so she got up and strapped on her boots again, securing a short dagger to her forearm and swinging on her cloak before departing her room.

She crept down the stairs and peered into the bar, but all the patrons had gone to bed and the dwarves were nowhere to be found, she saw with relief. She was being a coward, she knew, but she wanted to put off meeting them for as long as possible, for fear of what they might think of her. Were they able to change Thorin's mind about her coming on the quest? Would they resent her for imposing on their company? Would they fear her for being some type of vessel for Mahal's decrees, as she had discovered earlier that day?

 _Bastard,_ she cursed silently. The Vala hadn't mentioned anything about the dwarves being able to hear him through her tattoo, and the deceit left a bitter taste in her mouth. It only made her wonder what else the Vala had failed to tell her…

She made her way out of the front doors of the inn, pausing beneath the swinging sign that creaked faintly in the nighttime breeze. The air was sticky and humid with the tang of spring, and the dew clung to her cloak as she made her way to the stables. She heard the soft rustles and whickers of the horses put away, and their dark eyes followed her as she went to the stall where her mare was.

"Hey, Molly," she whispered, touching the nose of her chestnut horse gently and smiling. Her dark coat seemed black in the dim light of the stables, and Kate curled her fingers in the mare's inky hair, stroking it softly.

Molly had been one of her only companions in Middle-earth so far, after Kate had traveled to Rohan to purchase a new horse with the money Reyna had left her after she died. She supposed any horse would have done, but Kate had always been fascinated by the horse-lords in the south ever since reading _The Lord of the Rings,_ so that was where she had gone.

Kate had learned to train and care for her, and eventually ride her, and they had been fast friends ever since. Whatever command Kate gave, Molly executed it willingly, and wherever Kate went, Molly would happily take her there. The horse had given a sense of purpose to Kate that she had not felt in a long time, and she enjoyed the feeling of having something besides herself to watch over again. The feeling had reminded her of Molly, the little girl in her group home that had wished upon the star, and so that was what she had named her horse.

"A strange name for a horse," she remembered Rodric saying. He had looked at her with skepticism after she had announced her mare's name proudly. "It's not very…heroic."

Kate had rolled her eyes at the young horse-lord. "It's not supposed to be. Just a plain horse for a plain girl."

He had merely raised a brow at her, but she could see the smile playing in the corner of his mouth. "Whatever the lady insists."

"I'm glad you've come to see reason," she jested, swinging herself into the saddle and grinning down at him. "And I'm no lady, trust me."

And with that, she had taken off down the plains atop Molly, one of the last rides she would ever enjoy in Rohan.

Thinking of the windswept plains and hills of the horse lands sent a pang of regret through her, and she wondered if she would have a chance to visit once more before she went back to her own world. She hadn't meant to become attached to anyone after the death of Reyna, but there had been something about Rodric son of Rodhrim that had convinced her to break her rule. He had been young, around her own age at the time, entering manhood, handsome enough to break many a woman's heart, and wilder than the most untamable stallion. It was small wonder why she had taken to him, and mistakenly, she had convinced herself that women still had needs, in this world as much as the last one.

She sighed, untangling her fingers from Molly's mane and rubbing her nose one last time before kissing it and departing the stables. She wasn't planning on going back inside the inn quite yet, so instead she wandered around a bit, roaming the streets and stewing in her thoughts.

It was nearing dawn by the time she returned, sneaking quietly through the front door, but as she crossed over to the stairs she saw a shadow in the corner stir. Her dagger was immediately in her hand, but by the dully glowing embers leftover from last night's fire she recognized the silhouette well enough.

"You shouldn't lurk in shadows," she said, willing her heart to calm as she sheathed her dagger.

"And you shouldn't prowl around like some thief," Thorin Oakenshield's deep voice rumbled, and she heard his own blade being sheathed. "I thought I told you to get some rest?"

She shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

The dwarf made a low grumble in his throat. "It seems I am not the only one restless tonight."

"Guess not." She teetered for a moment, wondering if she should stay and chat or if it would be considered rude if she darted for her room, which is what she wanted to do. "Er, well, I'll go…get that rest now."

He said nothing, wreathed in the shadows like a sentinel sitting vigil, and Kate gave him one last look before ascending the stairs, wondering what the morning would bring for them both.

* * *

She must have dozed off sometime in the early morning hours, for when she opened her eyes again the first watery light of dawn was coming in through her window. Yawning, she got up and set about packing her things, wanting to travel as light as possible, but also wanting to have the necessities.

She managed to fit two packs into one, containing her clothing and toiletries, including a horse-hair brush, a bar of lye soap, a jar of mint paste she had bought at an apothecary (just because everyone else here had to forgo dental hygiene didn't mean she had to), a newly sharpened razor blade (she would blame the patriarchy for her need to shave, but the truth was, all that hair under her arms and in her nether regions was just bothersome – her legs, however, she could live with), and a package of tightly wound cotton sticks to staunch her period flow. Middle-earth wasn't likely to have a box of tampons lying around anywhere, so she had to make do.

Her food and water skins would all be going in the saddlebags, and after retrieving her sword from beneath the mattress and strapping it on and tying her bedroll to the top of her pack, she knew she could no longer delay the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and made her way downstairs.

The lounge was filled with only a few early risers, and she smiled when Anne waved to her from the bar, though her nerves made it come out more like a grimace. She went over to the counter, her belly growling when the scents of frying bacon and cooking eggs wafted over her. Anne was bent over the cooking fires, flipping the bacon with a pair of old tongs while simultaneously poking at the eggs to keep them from sticking to the pan.

"Mornin'," Anne said cheerfully when Kate approached. "Let's see if I remember: sunny side up and burnt bacon?"

"You got it," Kate said, trying not to drool at the sight of the food. A pang went through her as she thought of how this would be the last hearty breakfast she would have in a while, but she shrugged it off; she had gone without food before, so there was no use complaining now.

"I saw you talking with some of those dwarves that whirled in yesterday," Anne said, raising her brows at the younger woman, "and that man with the pointy hat. Were they the ones you were waiting up all night for?"

Anne was never one to beat around the bush, and her curiosity ofttimes passed for nosiness, but Kate saw no point in lying to her. It wasn't as if she was ever going to see her again, and the thought made her sad.

"Yes, they were. And I'll be leaving with them and the rest of their company today."

The older woman's brows stayed high. "You know them?"

Kate hesitated. "Let's just say it's more of a…business opportunity than anything."

"So they hired you?"

Kate scratched her cheek awkwardly. "In a way."

Anne stared at her for a long moment, the bacon sizzling merrily in the sudden silence, before she shrugged and turned her attention back to her cooking. "You're a strange one, Kate Miller, but as I said before, you have your reasons. Here, eat up. I don't want you to start your journey on an empty gut."

She handed Kate a small tin plate filled with eggs, bacon, and toast with strawberry jam, and a mug of milk to wash it down. Anne nodded over her shoulder. "I think some of your new companions have already claimed a table for themselves. Are you going to join them?"

Kate would have liked to say no, but when she glanced behind her to check out the table, she saw with some relief that Thorin and the three others she had spoken with the day before were not there. She flashed back to her uncomfortable meeting with Thorin last night, and grimaced when she realized she would have to face him again that day. But the dwarves sitting around the table by the fire seemed to be in a merry mood, and looked the least threatening of the ones she had seen so far, so she decided to begin her introductions and hopefully gain some approval before the rest of them came down.

"I guess I don't really have a choice if I'm going to be traveling with them now." She sighed. "Wish me luck?"

"Luck is for unlucky bastards," Anne said. "You won't need it, Kate, not with a face like yours." She grinned knowingly, but Kate only managed a weak smile, somehow doubting the other woman's words. Bidding her farewell, she took her plate and made her way over to the table, her anxiety making her palms sweat.

The dwarves were too invested in their conversation to notice her at first, and she took this opportunity to study them. There were six of them sitting around the table, each with two plates of food before them and twice the amount of ale to wash it down; it seemed all dwarves were the same in that regard, with their love of food and ale, and the thought bolstered her spirit somehow. Once again, however, the dwarves were not what she expected. Tolkien had described Thorin's company as dwarves, with beards and different colored hoods, and that had pretty much been the end of it. These dwarves wore no hoods, only furs and wools and leathers, and each one's hair and beard were wholly different than the last. This group appeared to be younger than Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin though, and that was what finally resolved her strength to sit down amongst them.

"Good morning, gentlemen," she said pleasantly, sitting down between a blond dwarf with twin mustache braids and an oddly meek-looking one with brown hair and a tiny braid of a beard. Her mug made a loud _thunk_ on the wood when she set it down, splashing a bit of milk over the rim, and all conversation ceased as the dwarves looked to her in a mixture of surprise, nervousness, curiosity, and suspicion.

"Kate Miller," she said, holding out her hand to the blond one who was gazing at her warily. "I'm assuming you lot are part of Thorin's company?"

Silence. When the blond dwarf didn't take her hand, she sighed and lowered it. "Unfortunate. I was hoping you all would be more fun than the ones I talked to yesterday."

This earned her a snort, and she looked across the table to see a dwarf with a floppy, eared hat and laugh lines around his mouth hastily taking a gulp of ale, though his eyes glinted appreciatively at her attempt at humor.

"You're the one, then?" The dark-haired dwarf sitting on the blond one's other side was studying her carefully, as if he could pick the answers he sought from beneath her flesh. He was attractive, she noted, with a fine face and only dark stubble brushing his jaw and chin. He oddly reminded her of Thorin, though she couldn't say how or why. "Thorin said there was to be a miller's daughter to join our company, at Gandalf's behest."

 _So now I'm a miller's daughter?_ she thought silently. It fit, though. Men in Middle-earth tended not to take surnames, unless it was a very old family name, and if they did it would most likely be tied to their occupation. That was clever on Thorin's part, she had to admit, but it also begged the question of why he wouldn't tell his company her true origins, unless he was doubtful – or fearful. But Thorin Oakenshield did not strike her as a coward, so it would seem he was simply biding his time until she proved herself, one way or another.

The thought did not sit lightly with her.

"Aye, that would be me," she said. "What of it?"

The dwarves around her traded glances as she bit off half a piece of bacon and chewed, her hunger driving away her manners.

"Nothing of it," the blond dwarf to her right said coolly. He seemed to be the leader of their little group, though he was not the oldest among them. "We were simply curious as to why Thorin would agree to such a thing."

She raised a brow. "Then that would be a question for him rather than me, wouldn't it?"

He bowed his head in acquiescence, though he looked extremely unhappy. "Of course, my lady."

"Stuff your ladies," she said, snorting into her mug. "I'm not one of them."

"As you say." His eyes followed her every movement, and she knew this one was going to be a pain in the ass.

"I find it strange that I gave you all my name, yet none of you have returned the courtesy," she said, turning away from him and speaking to the group at large. "Might I inquire as to them?"

"Bofur, if it please you, miss," the one with the hat said, reaching across the table and offering a hand. It was large, fitting over hers like an oven mitten, with the burn scars to complete the image.

"A pleasure, Master Bofur," she said sweetly, and he grinned widely at her. _Potential ally number one._

"This here's my younger brother, Bombur," he said, gesturing to the very large, very round dwarf seated to his left. He had a portly face, many wobbling chins, and an immense ginger beard, but he seemed kindly enough, though all he did was nod at her before going back to his food. That didn't surprise her, though. She recalled him as the dwarf who always wanted to sleep or eat.

"Nori," the one with the fancifully styled, starfish-styled hair and three-pointed beard said from down the table, waving a dagger at her. He had already finished his food and had been picking beneath his nails with the dagger. "Ori, say hello to the pretty lass."

The meek one to her left spluttered, indignant, but his face flushed when he turned to Kate.

"Hello," he said nervously. "Ori, at your service, miss."

She shook his hand, smiling warmly. The dwarf appeared to be young, younger than she would have expected, even though his hand could have easily crushed hers if he wanted. He didn't seem the fighting type, however, and she wondered what his purpose was, not unkindly.

That left the last two dwarves.

"Kíli," the handsome dark-haired one said, nodding politely to her. He seemed reserved, but not nearly as much as the other one, and she figured she could crack him soon enough. Shock flared at the sound of his name, mixed with a little fear, though she didn't show it. The blond one turned to her in some resign.

"And Fíli," he said, as if it pained him to admit it. He didn't offer his hand, nor did she offer hers. His approval would have to be earned later.

"It's nice to meet you both," she said, forcing herself to look pleasant, but all she felt like doing was fleeing from the room.

Fíli and Kíli were Thorin's heirs, she remembered, and looking at them now, the resemblance was clear as day, and she wondered why she hadn't been able to pinpoint it before. It was easier to tell with Kíli; his dark hair and sharp features screamed a blood relation to Thorin Oakenshield, while Fíli's face was much softer, more smoothed stone than chiseled marble, though his eyes were like that of Thorin's: a blue so cold it seemed like ice, with hints of grey within.

Being Thorin's heirs also meant that they would be the ones to die defending him on the battlefield. Her stomach roiled at the thought of having to save these two from death, her breakfast threatening to come back up, but she willed herself to remain calm and look pleasant. It would not do to have a panic attack her first day on the quest, and with any luck, she would be able to prevent their fates from happening anyway. If she didn't screw up or die trying first, as Mahal had so eloquently put it.

The dwarves didn't seem too keen to ask her many questions or include her in their conversation, thank the Valar, so she sat quietly and finished her breakfast slowly. The rest of the company had yet to show, and she frowned at the window, where heavier sunlight was beginning to spill into the inn. Was Thorin planning on leaving when the summer had ended?

When she had cleared her plate, she took it back to the counter. Anne had disappeared, so she left her dishes neatly on the edge, grabbing her bags from where she had set them by the door and heading for the stables.

Ben, the stable boy, was brushing one of the dwarves' smaller ponies when she arrived, though he looked up at her approach.

"Ah, it's the lady who won't give me her name," he said, and grinned. "Only jesting, of course."

"Of course," she said wryly. "Do you mind bringing me my mare? I wish to get her packed."

Ben nodded, whisking back into the stables and walking Molly out to her. Kate thanked him, beginning to load her things onto the horse and saddling her up, hoping the company would soon be ready to go. Thorin Oakenshield did not seem like one to waste time dawdling, but she could only speculate as to what was delaying him so.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, his deep voice said from behind her, "Miss Miller."

She turned from where she had been brushing Molly's mane, squinting in the bright morning light to see Thorin standing and watching her, a scowl on his face.

"Master Oakenshield," she greeted. "I've noticed you've told everyone that I'm a miller's daughter. Clever, on your part." She fixed him with a hard stare. "Yet oddly deceitful."

His scowl deepened. "I thought it best to avoid any conflict," he said. "I've convinced them you're a traveler, on your way to live with kin in Lake-town after your father passed, leaving you an orphan, and you paid good coin for our protection heading east. Most of my company would not hear of it, having a human woman traveling with us for so long and so far, especially with the dangers of the quest; they argued with me all night over it, and even now, as the dawn broke."

"I don't see how lying to them makes it better," she said. "Just round them up and have them touch my tattoo. If it was enough proof for you, it should be more than enough for them."

At the mention of her tattoo, Thorin's eyes flicked to her forearm, and she saw a sliver of unease in his gaze before it was gone. "I do not know what your tattoo means, whether it is a marking of witchcraft and dark sorcery or a true sign from our Maker. Until I decide for certain, the company will not know about it."

"Even your heirs?" When he looked to her sharply, she gestured to the inn. "I met them just now. They're cautious, like you. Will you not tell them?"

"They are young," he said. "Almost too young. It was against my better judgment to bring them, but as you said, they are my heirs. After we take back Erebor, they will rule after me. They deserve to have a place in the company." He said it as if he were convincing himself rather than her, but she merely stared at him coolly.

"This quest is beginning on a bad foot, Master Oakenshield," she warned. "What will you tell the others when they realize you're not dropping me off in Lake-town, or that my story is falsified?"

"I will deal with that when the time comes," he grumbled, and she could tell that her questions were annoying him. "But for now, your name is Kate, and you were a miller's daughter. You traveled here from a village near the Chetwood. The details I leave up to you, but do try to make them convincing."

"And if I don't?" She raised her chin a hair in challenge. "If I tell them who I truly am, and where I'm from, and what I'm doing?"

Thorin eyed her with the intensity of one who was not used to answering questions or being crossed, and though he was slightly shorter than her, he seemed imposing and unbending in that moment.

"Then you will come to regret that, Miss Miller," he said softly, the earth trembling in his tone, and she realized then that he meant it.

It did not please her at all, but if she wanted to help them and fulfill her deal with Mahal, then she had to suck it up. Thorin was the leader, like it or no, and she had no choice if she was to be of any use to anyone.

"Very well," she said shortly. "You have my word that I won't so much as breathe anything to them unless you give me leave, or I deem it wise to share my true purpose." She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. "And that is final, Master Oakenshield. I won't keep them in the dark forever."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but after working his jaw for a few moments, he closed his mouth again and nodded brusquely.

"My company packed last night," he said instead. "I will start sending them out, and then we will be on our way before the sun has cleared the horizon."

She nodded, and he turned without another word and reentered the inn.

Kate looked up to the brightening sky, finding a last glowing star and saying to it, "You really had to stick me with the most stubborn bastards, didn't you?"

The star said nothing, though she imagined she could hear a faint voice laughing in the wind.

* * *

 **Please review! I'm curious to know what you all think so far!**

 **So, Thorin's being an ass, but let's be real: He wants what's best for his people, but also wants to protect them. Thus, allowing Kate on the quest, but guarding the truth until he's certain she can be trusted (and for a dwarf, that's gonna take a while). Just a little note in case anyone was wondering. But if you have any questions, feel free to drop them in a review or PM.**

 **And Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers!**

 **xx**


	5. A Company and a Contract

**Disclaimer:** _All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

 **Thank you for all the new favorites/follows, and thanks to my reviewers from last time: wickedgrl123, ro781727, MaggYme, Emperor DeLacus, RagdollPrincess, Pirate-Girl1017, and Guest!**

* * *

Chapter Five: A Company and a Contract

"I'm telling you, it's not right!"

The exasperated voice cut through the early morning like a whip, and Kate paused in her steps, still hidden in the stables from when she had returned Ben's leather polisher. She peeked around the corner to the outside, where four dwarves were making their way from the inn to the stables.

She recognized Balin from the day before, with his snow-white hair and deep red robes that reminded her of Santa Claus, but the other three she had not yet met: One of them was built like a barrel, with elaborately-braided grey hair and a short sword in a scabbard strapped to his waist. The other two could pass for brothers, but one had grey hair that matched the first dwarf, and carried some sort of horn stuck in his ear, while the other's was a fiery red that would put even The Little Mermaid to shame.

The stockier dwarf with the sword continued to speak as they came closer, and Kate pretended to busy herself with organizing the horseshoes on the wall as she eavesdropped, having a sneaking suspicion they were talking about her.

"Thorin has made his decision, and it is final," she could hear Balin saying, and the tone of his voice made it sound as if he had been over this argument a dozen times. "The woman comes."

"Balin, have some sense about you," one of the others said gruffly. "Having a woman accompanying us is not only dangerous, but unwise. What would happen if we were attacked, and one of us fell defending her? What if she were to find out about the quest?"

"What quest?"

Kate stepped out of the stables with a politely puzzled smile, and the four dwarves stopped in their tracks. Perhaps her confrontation was a tad dramatic, but she simply couldn't help herself – it had been a prime opportunity.

Balin gave her a warning look upon seeing her, but she shot him a subtle wink, her grin growing wider when the others began to cough awkwardly and mutter.

"None o' your concern, that," the one with the red hair said, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

"Then perhaps you should keep your voices down, lest someone overhear things not meant for their ears." She gave them all a pointed glance, and they at least had the decency to look abashed, though the one with the ear device seemed utterly confused as to what was happening.

"They meant no harm, Miss Miller, I assure you," Balin said hastily. "Get your ponies, lads, and start packing. Thorin wants us out of the village by mid-morning," he told the dwarves, and with sullen nods and averted eyes in her direction, they entered the stables to retrieve their ponies, leaving her alone with Balin.

"Thorin told me that you intend to keep my mark a secret," she said once the others were out of earshot, and Balin sighed wearily.

"Aye, I know," he said. "I advised him against it, but he would hear none of my counsel." He frowned. "I do not think he quite believes your tale, Miss Miller, but I can hardly blame him – I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around it myself."

"But you saw it," she protested. "You heard Mahal _speak_ to you. Why should the rest of the company not have the same right?"

"And I agree with you, Miss Miller, but Thorin is our king," he said, injecting a hint of steel into his voice. "His word is law, his orders not to be disobeyed. There is not much I can do besides advise him to the best of my ability." He sighed again, and Kate suddenly wondered how much sleep he had gotten the night before. "Perhaps once the quest begins he will change his mind, but right now there is not much I can do to dissuade him from his current course."

Kate swallowed back her arguments, not wanting to bother the elderly dwarf when he was already under immense pressure. Instead she only nodded curtly.

"I hope so, Master Balin," she said. "After all, I'm here to help, and I can't really do much if no one knows who I really am or what my true purpose is."

Balin nodded in agreement. "Aye. But for now, let's just focus on getting on the Road, shall we?"

He smiled kindly before moving off into the stables, presumably to ready his own pony, and Kate sighed, wandering back over to Molly.

There was not much else she could do besides sit and wait, and she stroked Molly's velvet nose gently, watching the flurry of activity around her steadily grow as more and more dwarves went to the stables to load their ponies. Bofur was nice enough to wave to her when he saw her sitting cross-legged on the ground next to a grazing Molly, and she waved back, relieved that at least one person didn't seem to mind her.

She tilted her face up to the sky, letting the gradually strengthening light from the sun warm her cheeks, the last of the summer dew dissipating rapidly. Her peace was shattered, however, when something solid bumped against her shoe, and she looked down to see a red apple rolling gently in the grass beneath her.

"I'm terribly sorry about that!" someone said, rushing over to collect the apple, and she recognized a hobbit as he bent down and retrieved the runaway fruit, shining the skin with the sleeve of his coat. "Must've fallen out of my pack somehow." His hair was a mop of light brown curls, and his features were elfin and mischievous, like a fairy's, despite the air of respectability he cast, and she suddenly had a very good idea of who this hobbit was.

"No need to be sorry," she said, sticking out her hand. "Kate Miller."

The hobbit's eyes lit up in recognition as he shook her hand. "Ah, yes. Gandalf mentioned something about you journeying with us last night. I am Bilbo Baggins."

She grinned. _Suspicion confirmed._

"Aye," she said, "he also mentioned that a hobbit would be our companion, as well."

Bilbo chuckled, scuffing his large, hairy foot on the ground uncomfortably as he said, "Yes, well, that I am. Dunno why, really – blasted wizard and his grand talks of adventure and all…"

He trailed off, beginning to mutter to himself, before realizing she was still there and clearing his throat. "Er, well, it's nice meeting you, Miss Miller, but I really should be going. Ponies are not familiar territory and, I, uh, don't seem to have much experience packing one."

"Oh, do you need help?" she asked.

"Er – yes, actually, if you don't mind—" he said, looking immensely relieved, and he offered her a hand up. He was small, only the size of a child compared to her, coming up to about her chest, but she was still surprised at the height difference, as she was rather short herself.

He showed her to where his pony was munching on the sparse grass outside of the stables, her golden coat gleaming in the new morning sun. Kate collected one of Bilbo's saddlebags while he replaced the apple into the pack he carried on his back and swung it off, bringing it over to the pony.

"She's pretty," Kate remarked, patting the pony's rump. "Does she have a name?"

"A name?" Bilbo repeated, and she nodded. "Why, I don't think so. Should ponies have names?"

"Not necessarily," she said, beginning to attach the saddlebag, and the pony swished her tail at her, but otherwise stayed still. "It's just nice, y'know? After all, you're going to be acquainted with her for a while. So, why not?"

"Hm," Bilbo said, his face scrunching in thought for a moment, before saying, "What about Myrtle?"

Kate grinned. "I think it's a wonderful name."

The newly christened Myrtle snorted, as if to agree, and Bilbo smiled, helping her load the pony and watching what she did to keep the bags in check. He was a fast learner, she was pleased to discover, and soon enough, they had packed Myrtle properly.

"You've been a great help, Miss Miller," he said when they were finished, appraising their work approvingly. "I would have asked one of the others, but, ah, they don't seem too fond of me."

Kate snorted. "Join the club, Master Baggins."

Bilbo gave her a tentative grin. "Bilbo. Just Bilbo."

She smiled back. "Then call me Kate."

They stood in amiable silence, watching the chaos around them, before Gandalf spotted them and made his way over, his pointy hat atop his head and staff in hand.

"Ah, Kate, Bilbo," he said genially. "I'm glad to see you two have already acquainted yourselves. Good, good."

"When do you expect we'll be leaving?" Bilbo asked. "The morning is very nearly gone."

"Eager to be on the Road again, are we?" Gandalf said, raising his bushy brows, and Bilbo pulled a face that made Kate scoff. The wizard looked to her pointedly. "Thorin and the others should be ready soon. They are dealing with a minor issue that must be resolved before we can go further."

Kate had to refrain from rolling her eyes. She had never met dwarves more stubborn than these, and they were beginning to piss her off before they had even left Bree.

"What now?" she said irritably, and Gandalf gestured to the inn.

"Thorin had Balin write up another contract for you last night," he said. "They wanted to go over it with you before we all took our leave. I was sent to find you and bring you inside."

"Oh, fine," she said, sighing. "I'll go." She turned back to Bilbo. "Let me know if you need any more help before we leave. I'll be right back."

The hobbit nodded, waving her goodbye as she followed Gandalf back to the inn. The wizard slowed his steps until he was even with her, and he gave her a sidelong glance.

"So," he said conversationally, "are you ready for what lies ahead?"

Kate glanced to him neutrally. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Gandalf hummed. "It's interesting that Aulë chose you for this particular quest. I do not claim to know the ways of the Valar, however, though I have served under them for a very long time."

"Trust me, I'm still trying to figure it out myself," she said, shaking her head. She hesitated, her eyes darting to the wizard briefly, suddenly wondering if she should reveal what she knew about the quest. If anyone would be able to help her, it was Gandalf, right?

"Speak, child," Gandalf said, obviously having caught her glance. "A burden weighs heavily on your mind."

"You said yesterday that Aulë chose me because I might possess a valuable skill or knowledge that you all did not," she said. "Well…I do. Knowledge, that is." When he said nothing, she continued. "The world I come from…this quest is already recorded there, as a story. Why Mahal chose me specifically I don't know, but I was familiar with the tale of Thorin Oakenshield and his company's quest long before I actually came to this world."

"Then foresight is what you suggest?" Gandalf said, and she nodded. The wizard hummed again, looking thoughtful. "Interesting, interesting…" He then looked to her shrewdly. "And I assume you have not told Thorin this?"

She grimaced. "I'm not even sure I can. Mahal didn't give me very thorough instructions – even telling you might be a stretch. Besides, I'm uncertain if things will play out the same way. I was never in the story, and now I am." She frowned. "I just _really_ hope I don't screw things up. Mahal sent me to fix the story, not break it."

"What do you mean?" the wizard asked. "What is it you have been tasked to fix?"

 _You and your big mouth,_ Kate thought to herself in disgust, but she knew lying to Gandalf wouldn't be the best option here, so she decided to come clean.

"The quest succeeds," she assured him, "but there will be tragedy. In the story I know, Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli die in the end, during a great battle at the mountain."

"Smaug?" he asked, but she shook her head quickly.

"No, he dies, too. It's complicated to explain, but they called it the Battle of the Five Armies. The dwarves will be one of the armies."

"And the Line of Durin will perish," Gandalf said grimly, before looking to her with a newfound twinkle in his eye. "Yet Mahal entrusted you to stop that from happening."

Kate nodded, her gut clenching at the thought of what she had to do, how three lives now rested in her hands, without any of them having a clue, but she didn't voice her fear aloud.

"Well," Gandalf said as they reached the inn, "I hope you will succeed in this task, Kate Miller, and know that I offer my help to the best of my ability."

"Thank you," she said gratefully, though the panic was still there, sitting on top of her chest like a cat kneading its claws into her flesh.

Gandalf nodded to the door. "Thorin awaits you inside."

Bidding him farewell, she entered the lounge once again, immediately spotting Thorin sitting in a far table by the fireplace, flanked on either side by Balin and Dwalin.

 _Wonderful,_ she thought as she trudged over to them. _I get to deal with the firing squad again._

"Gandalf said you had a contract for me to sign?" she said without preamble, taking the seat across from Thorin's and crossing her legs casually.

"Indeed," the stoic dwarf king said. He pushed a piece of parchment over with a quill and inkpot, and she read through it quickly.

It was not a full contract, she realized with a stab of annoyance; there was no mention of a quest anywhere, just a few paragraphs written in fancy script saying that the company was not responsible for her if she were to die in any way, yet they would be decent enough to send her remains back to her closest living relatives – _Yeah, good luck sending my body back to Earth,_ she couldn't help thinking – and that she was entirely responsible for herself, and payment would be due upon her arrival to Lake-town to keep up her pretense of why she was traveling with them, which only made her scowl, though she didn't comment on it.

"Simple enough," she remarked, grabbing the quill and jotting her name down on the designated line.

"'Katherine Rose Miller,'" Balin read as he signed his own name, obviously trying to break the tension. "A pretty name."

"Certainly not one my miller father gave me," she said sarcastically, raising a pointed brow at Thorin. He did not deign this with a response, merely writing out his own name. Kate watched him sign _Thorin, son of Thráin_ beneath _Balin, son of Fundin._ She noticed Dwalin didn't sign his name, and she wondered if he had only been brought to intimidate her somehow.

"Your real parents, then?" Balin said.

Kate smiled sardonically. "Yeah. That was about the only thing they gave me, too."

At the elder dwarf's questioning look, she elaborated. "I was abandoned before I could even crawl. I grew up in a group home for orphans for the rest of my life. Never bothered to look for them, and they never bothered to look for me."

Balin looked stricken. She had even captured the attention of Thorin and Dwalin, though their faces were so impassive it was hard to tell what they were thinking. She raised her chin a hair in defiance.

"I'm sorry, lass," Balin said, clearly feeling awful. "I should've kept my nose out of it."

"No need for apologies, Master Balin," she said. "It was quite a while ago now."

He still looked slightly ashamed, but she only watched as Thorin melted some wax over the candle on their table, dripping the substance on the parchment before sealing it with his royal insignia.

"That concludes our business," he said, handing the contract to Balin, who tucked it away neatly in his pack. Thorin stood from the table, shouldering his own pack and glancing to her. "Come; we must be on our way."

Kate followed the dwarves out of the inn, looking around for any signs of Barley or Anne, but she assumed they were with the babe when she couldn't find them. Not wanting to leave without some sort of goodbye, she tapped Balin on the shoulder and asked him for a spare piece of parchment and some ink.

He complied willingly, but curiously, and she hastily scrawled out a note before leaving it on the bar: _Thank you for everything. You are truly some of the best people I have encountered in this world. Give my love to Baby Barley. – Kate_

They would find the note strange, perhaps, but it was the best Kate could do. She was not particularly fond of farewells, but the Butterburs had always been kind to her, and she would miss their hospitality and friendly cheer.

"On your ponies," Thorin was saying when she joined them outside. "We've lost a good deal of the day, and we need to make up for lost time."

Kate swung herself easily into Molly's saddle, and the mare whickered, pawing the ground anxiously, wanting to be on the move again. She was used to the open plains of Rohan, and Kate was sure the horse had felt confined within the walls of Bree.

When everyone was properly seated and ready, Thorin gave the order to move out. They passed single-file through the wooden gate of the village, and Kate hesitated, glancing back to _The Prancing Pony_ one last time and wondering if she would ever see it again. It didn't seem likely, if she even survived the quest at all, and she swallowed hard before facing forward again, turning her eyes to the world ahead.

* * *

They made good time that day despite their delayed start, coming to camp on the eastern edge of the Chetwood once they had lost the sun. The company made quick work of setting up camp, squabbling over the best patches of ground to lay their bedrolls on, starting a fire, and even getting a pot of stew going, provided by Bombur, who seemed to be the company's unofficial chef.

In fact, Kate had been studying the dwarves all day, content to ride in the back of the column and quietly observe. She noted all the dwarves she did know: Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Nori, Ori, Bofur, Bombur, Fíli, and Kíli, while also trying to place the others. She knew all their names from the book, of course, but facing the reality was a lot more difficult. She had worked out the names of the three dwarves she had confronted at the stables that morning as being Dori, Glóin, and Óin, and the remaining one had been easy to identify as Bifur.

She had been shocked to realize that an axe-head had been embedded in Bifur's skull, and it seemed he could only communicate in Dwarvish and some sign language, and she had marveled at the inaccuracy of Tolkien's story, wondering if he had even known of the dwarves he had made as his characters. That only made her head pound with questions she didn't know the answers to, like how Tolkien had even known of this world and this quest in the first place, and she had quickly ended that train of thought.

She sat on the edges of the camp, running a whetstone down the length of her sword just for something to do. No one seemed keen on including her in their conversations, but she found she didn't mind that much – after all, she would be traveling with them for almost a year if things went according to plan, and there were plenty more nights to get to know them all. The solitude was what she really needed in that moment; the dwarves were already proving to be exhausting with their suspicious looks and stubborn nature, but at least with only her sword for company she wouldn't feel judged.

The blade glowed dully from the light of the fire, the iron looking almost bronze when the flames combined with the shadows of the night. Rodric had given it to her as a gift in Rohan before she had left to travel back north, and though it was not one of the swords a Rider would use, it was still a fine Rohirrim blade; Rodric had called it a bastard sword, as it was not a one-handed longsword nor a two-handed broadsword, but a hand-and-a-half sword that straddled between agility and heavy damage – a fine weapon to have on a quest like hers, with its many dangers.

The grip was a rich black leather that conformed easily to her fingers, and the pommel and cross-guard were also iron to match the blade itself. The pommel, Rodric had told her, had been a horse head before, but he had switched it to a circular piece of iron with a single onyx stone set in the center, to detract attention from her connections with Rohan. It had been the best gift she had ever received, and though she had yet to use it in battle, she got the feeling that her opportunity was coming sooner rather than later.

"What're you doing all by your lonesome over here?" someone said, startling her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Bofur plopping himself on the ground beside her, a cheerful smile on his face.

"Just sharpening my sword," she said, holding up the whetstone in her hand and shaking it vaguely. "Nothing too exciting, I assure you."

Bofur looked curiously to the sword in her lap, and she fought the urge to hide it from view as he said, "That's a nice blade. Do they have forges in your village?"

 _Oh, right, miller's daughter,_ she thought, scowling, but she nodded at the dwarf. "They're decent enough, but I'm sure they're nothing compared to dwarven forges."

"Aye, I think I'd agree with that," he said, grinning. "Dwarf forges are as big as the mountains themselves, and our smiths could surpass any of those in the world."

Kate found herself suddenly intrigued. "And were you a smith?"

"Me?" Bofur laughed. "No, lass, I was a miner. I tinkered with my brother and cousin a bit on the side, fashioning ourselves as toymakers, but I was too impatient for the smiths. Forging is a long and slow process, and I began to find ways to entertain myself in the meantime – much to the disapproval of the masters, o' course."

"Indeed?" Kate said, raising a brow. "I could imagine so, Master Bofur; you seem like a wily fellow."

"More than just that, lass," he said, winking at her, and she couldn't help but chuckle. He gestured to the circle around the fire. "Why don't you come get some stew? Bombur just finished up, and there's plenty to go around."

Kate hesitated; she was hungry, for sure, but dealing with the dwarves' scrutiny again was not an appealing option. Knowing she could not go to bed on an empty stomach, however, she resigned herself and nodded to the ever-cheerful dwarf, who helped her up with a study grip.

She sheathed her sword as she followed Bofur to the fire, waiting patiently as he grabbed her a small wooden bowl from their supplies that she used to ladle the stew into. It smelled wonderful, and her stomach growled as she took a seat next to the hatted dwarf, who had already gone back for seconds.

The dwarves seemed too intent in their own discussions to have noticed her much, but she took this as a blessing, and wolfed down her stew in the meantime. The flavor was rich and delightful, and cooked perfectly; she would have to commend Bombur on his cooking skills, if ever she got the chance to. Most of the company seemed content to leave her to her own devices, but she knew she would have to gain their trust eventually if she were to follow them to the mountain without conflict. However, Thorin was making that very difficult by forbidding her to reveal Mahal's mark to anyone else, even if it would make the whole trusting process go a lot faster.

She scowled at the reminder of the dwarf king's words, and unconsciously began glaring at him from across the fire, where he sat quietly between Dwalin and Fíli, finishing up his own stew. Those three were the ones she would have to work with the most if she was going to get anywhere on this quest, and the thought did nothing to please her.

As if sensing her eyes on him, Thorin looked up and met her gaze across the circle, his features inscrutable, as ever. His eyes looked almost black in the gloom, but she could feel them assessing her, watching her every move.

"You're from around the Chetwood, aren't you, Miss Miller?"

Kate broke eye contact with Thorin when Bofur nudged her shoulder slightly, and she glanced around to find everyone staring at her with varying emotions of wariness and indifference. It did nothing to bolster her confidence, especially after being put on the spot like that, and she silently cursed Bofur and his incessant chatter.

"Aye," she said, scraping the bottom of her bowl with the crude utensil she had been given just for something to do. "Er, my village isn't near here, though. We were closer to the Midegwater Marshes than the Road."

"Apparently they have decent forges there, too," Bofur chimed in knowledgeably, and Kate resisted the urge to smack him upside the head with her bowl. "Miss Miller here has a sword from there."

"A sword?" Kíli said from his place beside Fíli. "What kind of sword?"

Kate gestured to the scabbard at her waist. "The sharp and pointy kind."

Bofur snorted, and even Kíli looked amused, though he tried to hide it. "Well, come on, then, let's see it."

Knowing the persistence of prodding dwarves, she sighed and unsheathed her sword, holding it closer to the fire for better light.

"It's a bastard sword," she explained; probably unnecessarily, since they were all dwarves with obvious knowledge of weapons, but she continued anyway. "Broadswords are too heavy for me and longswords don't have enough power, but this one does just fine."

"Does it have a name?" Kíli asked, sounding genuinely interested, but she shook her head.

"Swords are known for their great deeds in battle," she said. "Mine has yet to see one, so…"

She trailed off, shrugging, and the dwarves muttered amongst themselves, casting her indecipherable looks every now and then. She sheathed her blade again, returning to the remnants of her stew when it seemed they were done asking questions.

"Get some sleep, all of you," Thorin said a few minutes later. "We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

The company dispersed from the fire, retreating to their bedrolls and falling asleep so quickly Kate wondered if the stew had been laced with some sleeping potion. She took her time preparing for bed, rinsing out her bowl with the leftover water from her water-skin and making sure she had everything ready for the morning, before curling up on her own roll, looking at the stars above her where they peeked through the branches of the trees.

She could hear the snores of the dwarves, loud in the quiet of the night, and she closed her eyes, suddenly feeling lonelier than ever as she fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

 **Please review! I love hearing your thoughts!**

 **Not a very exciting chapter, I'm afraid, but I'm trying to make this as realistic as possible given the circumstances. Dwarves are very secretive and suspicious, and a quest like this would be their top priority in keeping it secret, especially from outsiders. And unfortunately, Kate falls into that category for the time being, and being stuck the way she is between Mahal and Thorin doesn't make things any easier.**

 **Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! And if you happened to hop over from _The March of Time,_ I have begun rewrites for that story, as well, just FYI. **

**Happy holidays!**

 **xx**


	6. A Tale By Firelight

**Disclaimer:** _All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

 **Welcome back! Sorry for the long delay between chapters, but starting a new semester barely gave me time to write, hence the short chapter. Either way, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Six: A Tale by Firelight

The next three days passed without much incident.

Thorin led their company single-file down the Great East Road, keeping their ponies at a brisk pace and allowing them to stop only a few times during the day: once at mid-morning to pass water, once at midday for a short lunch and rest, and then at night to set up camp and sup. The routine became almost automatic for Kate, and she soon began to go through the motions thoughtlessly, her brain on autopilot.

She hadn't made much progress with the dwarves, except Bofur. He would occasionally drop back in the column to ride alongside her and chatter away, keeping her company through the dull ride. She learned a lot about him within those three days, including his mother's name (which had been Duna), what the birthmark on his calf looked like (a sparrow), what his favorite color was (blue), and the most pigeon pies he had eaten in one sitting (which was eighteen – Bombur, however, as he had told her, had managed to eat thirty-one, and still held the record in Ered Luin).

She enjoyed Bofur's company and appreciated his kindness to include her, but she couldn't help feeling disgruntled that the others did not show the same enthusiasm. She had caught the sneaking glances of several of them before, but they never tried to approach her, so she did the same. It was childish of her, perhaps, but at least her solitude granted her time to think.

Despite being in this world for five years, she had never thought of the quest much; survival had been her top priority, and living each day as if it could very well be her last did not give her much time to philosophize or plan ahead. Now, it was vital.

Mahal – that vague prick, she couldn't help cursing – had not given her much of an outline besides "don't die, and don't let the Durins die, either." She knew she had to change the ending of the story, but how much leeway did she actually have? Was she allowed to change other parts of the story, as well? What sort of repercussions would the future have if she changed something too much here?

This last thought had occurred to her the night before, when she had tossed and turned in her bedroll, sleep eluding her in place of her jumbled thoughts. The only other person in the company besides Bofur who didn't seem to hate her was Bilbo, and a sense of protectiveness towards the hobbit had begun to grow within her, which had led her train of thought to Gollum and the Misty Mountains.

She knew Bilbo would find the One Ring there, and though it wouldn't come into play for another sixty years, what if it simply…didn't? What if she somehow managed to get rid of it, or – better yet – destroy it? Gandalf would believe her if she told him what the ring really was, and he would know what to do, wouldn't he? Or was that overreaching the boundaries of her "foresight?"

 _Stupid Vala,_ she had thought in frustration, not really caring if Mahal would bring lightning down upon her head within that moment. _Why did you have to be so irritatingly unclear?_

Either way, she knew Bilbo would have to get the ring. Leaving it in Gollum's hands was too dangerous for the future of Middle-earth, yet knowingly sending the hobbit into that cave made her stomach squirm uncomfortably. Unless she got the ring herself…

 _No, it has to be Bilbo,_ she thought. _He'll need it more than I on this journey. We'll worry about the ring after._

She convinced herself to stick with _The Hobbit_ timeline for now, and worry about _The Lord of the Rings_ one later – besides, she would either be dead or too old to be of much use by the time those events would come to fruition, which was quite depressing to think about, and so she stopped.

On their fourth day since departing from Bree, the company awoke to dark rainclouds and clinging drizzle, and the dwarves all cursed as they began to pack up camp, complaining about their soggy food and damp clothes.

Kate didn't much mind the weather; she had been forced to live in the open in worse conditions than these, and it was a summer storm, not a winter one. The drizzle was annoying, but warm, and the low rumbles of thunder in the distance were beautiful, rolling and echoing over the plains in a rich, deep music.

She rolled up her bedroll and secured it to the back of Molly's saddle, fixing the saddle blanket to sit over it and capture most of the moisture so she wouldn't be sleeping on wet cloth that night. She turned to go back to camp, figuring she could at least be useful and help pack some more things, but was nearly knocked flat on her ass when she ran into Thorin.

"Shit, sorry," she said, managing to regain her balance at the last second while the dwarf king merely stared at her. "I'll just, uh—"

She gestured vaguely to the camp, where the dwarves were still getting rid of all traces that they had been there, but Thorin shook his head.

"No," he said, before jerking his head to the trees. "Come."

He started forward without waiting for her, and she followed after him, frowning. Thorin hadn't even looked in her direction since that night by the fire on their first night away from Bree, and now he suddenly wanted to speak to her? She prepared herself for the worst as he came to a stop at the tree line, the Road stretching out ahead to the horizon and vanishing in the fog that choked the lowlands.

"What's all this about?" Kate said, waving her hand around them. "Finally come to see reason, have you?"

His jaw tightened. "I still stand by my decision."

Kate scoffed, turning to march back to their camp, but his voice held her back.

"Why did Mahal choose you?"

Though she stayed where she was, she didn't bother to look back at him.

"I told you; I made a wish on a star, and the next thing I knew, I was here." She sighed. "I honestly couldn't tell you why he chose me. I've been trying to figure it out for the last five years, and I'm nowhere close to having an answer that would satisfy both of us."

He didn't speak, and when the silence stretched on, she snuck a glance over her shoulder, seeing him standing there with his head bowed, mist and drizzle clinging to his raven hair and fur cloak. He seemed so weary in that moment that Kate suddenly felt the urge to take pity on him, and she walked until she was standing beside him on the ridge.

"Look, I don't know why I was chosen for this quest," she said, watching him carefully, though his face remained stony. "What I do know is that Mahal sent me to help you, Thorin, and I plan on doing that to the best of my ability."

"Do we fail?" he asked quietly, and Kate froze, although she made her face as neutral as possible when he looked to her. Her heart squeezed at the look of hollow desperation in his eyes, and she suddenly realized that her presence was taking more of a toll on him than she had originally thought.

She was shocked that he had worked through it so quickly, why she had practically been forced upon them by his Maker – but could she tell him about the story, about his own fate, and that of his nephews?

She knew the tales, of people who saw their futures and set out to change them, but fulfilling their self-prophecy in the end. Telling Thorin about his inevitable sickness and death would be like picking out the coffin already. She needed him to lead this quest, not doom it trying to prevent his own fate – besides, that was her job.

"No," she said, shaking her head, and his shoulders settled in relief. "Just think of me as a…guardian, of sorts. I may not be a dwarf, but Mahal still wants me here, however much you may not. My mission is to protect all of you and get you to the Lonely Mountain in one piece."

He studied her with startlingly blue eyes, before nodding once.

"So be it," he said, and she was surprised at his easy acceptance. "However, I do have one more question."

"Shoot," she said, grimacing when he looked to her weirdly, but he only shrugged off her casual remark.

"That day in the inn, when I touched your tattoo… Mahal said something to me, besides telling me that you were an integral part to our quest."

"He said I was 'the Heart,'" she confirmed, making air quotes with her fingers and nodding when he looked to her incredulously. "I know; I heard him, too. Dunno why, but I did."

"And do you have any idea what that could mean?" he asked. "Did he mention anything to you about it?"

"Haven't the foggiest," she said truthfully.

Thorin raked his eyes over her, as if he could pick out any lie she was hiding just below the surface, before finally nodding, accepting her truth.

"Then it seems we are both in the dark, Miss Miller," he said, casting one more look to the lowlands beyond before turning back to the trees. "Come; we must start moving."

She made to follow him, but stopped when he faced her again, looking to him questioningly.

"If you prove your loyalty to my company and I, then I will reconsider my stance about you showing them your mark," he said. "Understand, Miss Miller, I do not give my trust lightly – but when you earn it, you'll know."

And with that, he strode back in the direction of the camp, leaving her to scramble behind him with the beginnings of a hopeful smile on her face.

* * *

Their ride that day was wet and uncomfortable. The drizzle had turned into a true downpour, and the thunder overhead was loud and booming, the force of it making the earth rumble beneath them.

Kate kept her head down, staving off most of the rain with the hood of her cloak, but she was still soaked through, her hair plastered to her neck and her sopping clothes chafing her inner thighs as Molly plodded along with the other ponies, mud squelching under their hoofs.

They had already stopped twice that day, and though it was impossible to tell through the thick clouds, the day was drawing to a close, meaning that they would be setting up camp shortly.

Fortunately, the storm began to move west as dusk approached, and by the time Thorin ordered them to stop, it had already faded behind them, leaving them in dusty twilight and sticky, humid air.

"We camp here for the night," he said, gesturing to an outcropping of rock perched above the ravine they had just struggled through for the last hour. The company ushered their ponies up the slope before tying them off away from the rock and beginning to set up camp, laying out bedrolls where the ground was driest and moving off in search of suitable kindling for the fire.

Kate sat back on her heels after settling her things for the night, surveying the quiet chaos of the camp. One thing she had noticed was that the dwarves moved in perfect tandem together, working as a single mind whenever it came to…well, anything, really. Hunting, riding, making camp; undoubtedly, they would work seamlessly in a fight, as well, though their going had been peaceful so far, and danger had not yet presented itself.

She spotted Bilbo sneaking off to the edge of camp, where the ponies were, a shiny red apple in his hand, and she smiled to herself; Bilbo and Myrtle had been inseparable these last days, and she found herself wandering over to them out of curiosity.

Bilbo was shushing his pony as Myrtle chomped noisily on the apple when Kate approached, and she couldn't help grinning to herself. Thorin had made it very clear that the ponies were only to be given feed or otherwise left to graze when the terrain called for it, but it seemed that the hobbit had taken quite a shine to his own pony if he was willing to disobey Thorin's orders.

"Got any more of those?" Kate asked, coming up behind Bilbo, and he spun around, quickly shielding Myrtle from view. However, when he recognized it to be only her, he gave a tiny sigh of relief.

"A few left," he said, nodding to his pack, where it sat near his bedroll by the fire. "Would you care for one?"

As dinner had yet to be started, and her stomach had been rumbling since noon, she accepted his offer gratefully, following him back to the center of the camp. He plopped down on his bedroll and patted the space beside him, and she settled down, tucking her legs crisscross as he handed her a large red apple.

They watched the bustle of the camp around them for a moment, munching on their apples. Fíli and Kíli had drawn lots for the watch that night, and she saw them leaning against the outcropping of rock that sheltered their camp, smoking their pipes and talking quietly. Bombur sat at the fire, preparing a beef and vegetable stew, while the rest of the company lounged about the camp, sharpening weapons, repairing damaged or darned items, or chatting merrily. The only dwarf who did not share in their companionship was Thorin, who had taken up post on the far side of camp, near the ravine's edge, running a whetstone along the curved blade of his axe.

Kate watched him thoughtfully, chewing her apple slowly. She found herself entranced by the movement of his arm as he sharpened the axe and the rhythmic _schick_ of the stone and iron together. She had stewed over their conversation all day, torn between relief that she still had a chance to gain his trust, and the old feeling of confusion that had plagued her since Bree.

She still had no idea what Mahal had meant by her being 'the Heart,' and the question had come back to taunt her after Thorin had asked the same thing. Perhaps the Vala had been dramatic simply for the dwarves' sake, but she had a feeling that it was important, and that whatever it was, she probably wasn't going to like it.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a wild shriek tore through the night, echoing around the lowlands and silencing the camp. She felt Bilbo stiffen beside her, and his eyes darted about the gloom warily. "What was that?"

"Orcs," Fíli said from his place at the rock, looking grave. Thorin had stood at the sound of the screech, and now he looked out over the ravine below, his shoulders tense.

 _"Orcs?"_ Bilbo repeated, his voice rising.

"Throat-cutters," the blond dwarf confirmed. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands will be crawling with them."

Kíli spoke seriously to Bilbo, adding, "They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams." He shuddered. "Just lots of blood."

"Oh, my," Bilbo said faintly, and the two brothers snickered, obviously having a laugh at the poor hobbit's expense.

"Oh, grow up," Kate snapped at them, watching their expressions change from amused to shocked with a flare of satisfaction. "Only children make light of such matters."

"Indeed," Thorin's voice rumbled from behind them, and they all turned to see him stalking along the ravine's edge, eyeing his nephews warningly. Everyone looked from Kate to the dwarf king in bewilderment, but no one was more baffled than her; Thorin was agreeing with her on something?

"You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" he demanded of his nephews. When they said nothing, only gazing to the ground, ashamed, he stalked away, muttering, "You know nothing of the world."

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kíli mumbled, and Balin came over to them, looking sympathetic.

"Don't mind him, laddie," he said kindly. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."

Bilbo leaned over to her. "What does he mean?"

But Kate had been watching Thorin, knowing what Balin was talking about before he even said it.

"Listen, and you will learn," was all she said to him before getting to her feet and walking to where Thorin stood stoically as Balin began his story of the Battle of Azanulbizar.

Kate came upon the edge of the ravine, keeping some feet between her and Thorin as she looked down. The ground plunged away into shadow, the bottom hidden by mist and fog, and she imagined the many watchful eyes staring back at her from below, waiting to strike. She took her apple core and chucked it as far as she could, watching it vanish into the night. She didn't even hear it hit the ground.

Thorin had remained silent throughout her action, opting to stare broodingly into the darkness, though she could the ghosts of memories flitting across his face as Balin recounted the death of Thorin's grandfather. Finally, when it became clear that she wasn't going back to the camp, he spoke.

"I thought Balin was a grand storyteller, yet you do not seem interested in his tale," he said, keeping his eyes trained forward, and she shrugged.

"It's a sad tale," she said. "Why would I listen?"

"Then you know of it already?"

He sounded surprised, albeit a little suspicious, but she nodded.

"I couldn't even begin to count how many tales and songs I've heard during my travels," she admitted. "But the sad ones always stay with me, more than any others." When he said nothing, she turned and faced him fully. "I'm sorry about your father and grandfather. The world was cruel that day when they were taken from you."

"Why would a human care about the plights of dwarves?" he asked, not rudely, but she understood his question.

"Because some of us have hearts, believe it or not." She smirked faintly to herself. "This world can be a hard, mean place, but there is still good in it, I have learned. It's much like my own in that sense."

"And what cruelties has your world seen?" He sounded genuinely curious, but it was underlined with some skepticism, as if he still had trouble believing that she was not from Middle-earth.

"Far too many," she said sadly. "War, plague, famine, slavery, terrorism, natural disasters… The list goes on, really." She frowned. "Except we didn't have orcs or elves or magic or any of that."

He snorted. "Then I imagine coming here was quite a shock."

She grinned at him. "The first time I saw a dwarf I fainted." She suddenly lowered her voice. "But don't tell anyone I told you that."

He finally turned to look at her, a hint of a smile on his face, but before he could say anything, a ripple of movement from behind them captured his attention. She was slightly disappointed as he turned away from her, but when she looked, the entire camp was staring at Thorin, awe, admiration, and resolve coating every one of their features.

"But the Pale Orc?" Bilbo broke in, effectively shattering the moment as Thorin's face turned dark again. "What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hole from whence he came," Thorin growled. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

And with that, the story ended, and Thorin bid them all to get some sleep.

As the rest of the company settled down for the night, Kate remained by the ravine's edge, her thoughts cloudier than the fog scuttling below her. She thought back to the almost-smile she had gotten out of Thorin, and an odd sort of feeling passed through her, though it was hard to describe what it was. The day had been full of odd revelations and shifting emotions, and she assumed that exhaustion was to blame. With that in mind, she retreated to her bedroll and turned in for the night, letting the glowing embers of the fire lull her to sleep.

She had not been aware of the eyes that had watched her in curiosity from the other side of the camp, nor the ones that had peered up at her from the gloom of the lowlands, eager to report back to its master of what had been found that night.

* * *

 **Please review!**

 **This chapter was pretty uneventful, besides some Kate/Thorin interaction, but things will begin to pick up next time!**

 **xx**


	7. A Night with Trolls

**Disclaimer:** _All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

 **Welcome back! So sorry for the long wait, but I hope this chapter makes up for it.**

 **Thank you for all the new favorites/follows, and many thanks to my reviewers from last time: pallysd'Artagnan, ro781727, Kelwtim2spar, Shrimptoes, Pint-sized She-Bear, lindir's gaze, Purple1209, wickedgrl123, Jinx1223, HorrorFan13, Jemstone6259, ThunderNinja4Ever, and AmuletSugar1!**

* * *

Chapter Seven: A Night with Trolls

In hindsight, Kate should have seen this coming.

After all, it was one of the major plot points of the book. How could she have forgotten so easily? Perhaps she had become complacent in their so-far-uneventful journey, had imagined that their safety would have lasted longer. But that was all shot to Hell now as she stared into the faces of three ugly, very _big_ trolls.

 _Well, Kate, you've got yourself in a right mess now._

* * *

 **Earlier That Day**

The storm of yesterday was now a long-forgotten memory in the minds of the company. The day had dawned bright and cheery, with birds chirping in the trees and the air cool and fresh against their dirty, travel-wearied skin. The good weather lightened their moods considerably, and there was much talk and merriment as they prepared for their ride that day.

Kate found herself humming to the tune of 'Africa' by Toto, of all things, as she packed her belongings, tuning out the dwarves around her and focusing on the song in her head. That was one of the things she missed most about her world (behind indoor plumbing and the Internet, anyway) – the music. She often found herself thinking of songs she knew, sometimes running them through her head just to see if she could remember the lyrics. Other times, random songs would pop into her head and be stuck there for days (such as the entire week where she couldn't think of anything else besides Taylor Swift songs). It was always a relief whenever she was able to recite a song word-for-word, but it also made her homesick for the life she had left behind, and she always wondered what she was missing out on.

 _You'll find out soon enough,_ she reassured herself. _Once this quest is over, you'll be able to go home again._

"That's an odd tune."

Her humming turned into a strangled grunt of surprise as she turned around to see Fíli and Kíli standing over her, the former gazing at her inquisitively while the latter seemed to be looking anywhere but at her.

"It's, uh, something I came up with," she said to Fíli, figuring that was her safest answer. She raised a brow at him, still bent over her pack. "Can I help you?"

Fíli pursed his lips, looking away from her and nudging his brother in the ribs with his elbow. Kíli shot him a glare of utter betrayal while Kate watched in bafflement.

The younger dwarf turned to look at her, meeting her curious gaze with a small degree of abashment, and she suddenly had an inkling of what was happening.

 _"We,"_ he said, emphasizing the word and shooting a glance at Fíli, who only scowled, "came to apologize."

"Shouldn't you be apologizing to Bilbo instead?" she asked. "It was him you frightened last night, not me."

The two dwarf princes looked confused.

"We already apologized to Master Baggins for our behavior," Fíli said, "but we also came to make amends with you for the way you have been treated."

Now it was Kate's turn to be confused.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You're a part of the company now," Kíli said in a rush. "And, well, we haven't really acted like you were this past week."

Kate had to refrain from rolling her eyes. "You don't have to apologize for treating me for who I am – a stranger." She turned back to her rucksack, throwing a pair of socks into it. "Trust me, I get where you're coming from."

"Still," Kíli protested, "it is unbecoming for two princes to treat a lady as such."

"And I've told you already that I am no lady, and that I understand," she said, getting to her feet and meeting their gazes head-on. She was only a few inches taller than them, so it was easy to lock eyes, and she crossed her arms. "I know you two have to act your part and be all chivalrous and gentlemanly or whatnot, but can we just cut the shit and get to the part where you actually treat me normally and not like some kicked puppy you found on the side of the road? I think all our lives would be easier for it."

Fíli smirked at her. "Balin warned you had a sharp tongue. I guess we can only blame ourselves for provoking it."

She assumed that the elder prince was perfectly fine with her statement, as he was no longer looking at her as if she would put a knife in his back at any moment, and she turned to Kíli, quirking her brow.

"Thank _Mahal,"_ he said, immediately letting his shoulders drop. The air of princely respectability he had draped over himself vanished in an instant, and an easy grin lit up his face, making him appear younger and more mischievous. "I _hate_ acting like a stuffy prick all the time. I dunno how Uncle does it."

Fíli snorted. "Because he's not _you,_ for one."

Kíli rolled his eyes. "At least I'm the _fun_ one."

Kate watched the two brothers bicker, a soft smile making her lips curl upwards ever so slightly. Their antics reminded her of Dylan and Charlie from the group home in Boston – the two teenage boys had been inseparable, always on another wavelength that was so different from everyone else's that only they could understand. Kate wondered where they were now.

"Er, Miss Miller?"

She was torn from her musings when Kíli waved a hand in her face, capturing her attention.

"Sorry, what did you say?" she asked. _I really gotta stop doing that…_

"We're leaving now," said Fíli, who was watching her curiously. "Thorin wants everyone on their pony."

"Right." She nodded. "I'll be right there."

The two princes exchanged an indecipherable glance before retreating to where their own things lie scattered near their bedrolls, telling her they'd speak to her later once they got on the Road. Kate smiled politely before shaking her head, cursing herself under her breath.

 _If you want to keep the allies you make, then stop making such a fool out of yourself._

She had a feeling that that would be easier said than done.

* * *

Fíli and Kíli kept their promise and rode with her for much of the day, entertaining her with stories and jokes. Kíli seemed to chatter on for hours by himself, to the point where Kate began to wonder if he had an 'off' button somewhere. Fíli, though not nearly as talkative as his brother, answered her questions politely and asked a few of his own, which put her on her guard, but he only seemed curious, not suspicious as he had been before.

"Thorin said you were left an orphan after your father's death," the blond dwarf said to her as their ponies clopped along in formation. The sun had climbed higher in the sky since the morning, and Kate could feel her clothes beginning to stick to her from sweat as she slapped away an inquisitive insect that had flown too close to her face. Kíli had ridden ahead to tell the joke he had just shared with Kate about a troll, a dwarf, and a rock, and from the way several of the dwarves groaned, she guessed he had told it. However, that had left her alone with the ever-persistent Crown Prince.

 _Ah, yes,_ she thought at Fíli's question. _My nonexistent miller father. Thanks for that, Thorin Arse-shield._

"That's right," she said shortly, hoping that if she kept her answers snappy and simple he'd get the hint and back off. Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten the hint yet.

"I'm sorry to hear about that," he said, sounding genuine, and she ignored the flare of guilt in her chest. "And your mother…I take it she's not around anymore either?"

"Died in childbirth," she replied, keeping her eyes trained forward.

"But you have kin in Lake-town, aye? That's why you're traveling with us?"

"It would appear that way," she said drily, and he frowned.

"Forgive me, Miss Miller. I don't normally pry, but…"

"Kate," she said, turning back to him and forcing a smile. "I think it's safe enough to drop the formalities, Fíli. Unless you want to be referred to as 'My Lovely Lordly Liege', then by all means—"

He chuckled, and she grinned at the unexpected sound. He looked a lot less severe when he smiled, and Kate thought him rather handsome when he did.

"Fíli is fine," he said, "Kate."

The name sounded foreign on his tongue, as if he were saying _ket,_ but she nodded encouragingly, and he grinned slightly.

They lapsed back into silence, and Kate had just begun to think how lucky she was to have escaped his scrutiny when he asked, "Why do your kin live so far from here? Lake-town is across the Misty Mountains; it seems unusual for a family to be so far apart."

Kate felt like bashing her skull into a tree.

"It's a long story," she muttered, shifting in Molly's saddle and avoiding eye contact with him.

Fortunately, before he could interrogate her further, Kíli decided to make a reappearance at their side.

"Done bothering the rest of the company with inappropriate jokes?" she asked quickly, grinning at the dark-haired dwarf, and he snickered.

"It seems so," he said, feigning sadness. "Alas, no one appreciates my sense of humor. Tragic, really."

"My heart bleeds for you," she assured him, and he chuckled. It felt good to have someone to laugh with again, and Kate looked forward, smiling, only to lock eyes with Thorin.

He had turned halfway in his saddle, presumably wondering where all the laughter was coming from, and he now watched her and his nephews with a brooding brow, his mouth pulled into a puzzled frown.

Kate dropped his gaze quickly, suddenly feeling awkward. It seemed that their small truce the day before did not also apply to today, and she sighed, hoping that every day wouldn't turn into some sort of test to see if she could gain Thorin's trust for another twenty-four hours before he went back to keeping her at arm's length again.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. By the time they were ready to settle down and make camp for the night, the company had lost their merriment and energy from that morning, and Kate could hear them begin to groan and complain from soreness as the sun fell.

Thorin finally called for a halt just as the sun had disappeared behind the tree line, pointing out a suitable place to make camp just over the next ridge. Kate looked to where he pointed, frowning when she saw a rundown farmhouse that had long since been abandoned. She disliked the idea of any empty houses out in the woods after the amount of horror movies she'd seen, and Gandalf seemed to share her sentiment when she rode by and caught the brooding look on his face.

"Everything all right?" she asked him in a low voice.

He didn't answer her, lost in his own thoughts, though she saw the skin around his eyes tighten as he rode after Thorin. Assuming the wizard was about to lay some sort of Middle-earth smackdown on the dwarf king, she left him to it, following behind at a slower pace.

By the time she reached the house, the dwarves had already gone about setting up camp. Óin and Glóin were building the fire while Bombur took out his cooking supplies, and she could see Fíli and Kíli herding their ponies off to tie them up for the night. She smirked to herself; it seemed Thorin hadn't let them off easy after their comments the night before.

At the thought of the dwarf, she looked around the camp and saw him standing within the ruins of the farmhouse with Gandalf. The two seemed to be in a heated discussion, and she wondered what Gandalf was so upset with Thorin about. Deciding that it wasn't her business, however, she turned to lead Molly after the other ponies, but stopped when she caught a snippet of their conversation.

"I have told you already, I will not go near that place," said Thorin angrily.

"Why not?" Gandalf countered. "The elves could help us! They could give us food, rest, advice."

Kate froze at the mention of elves. As it did whenever she thought about elves, her stomach clenched uncomfortably, and she swallowed nervously. Ever since she had first read Tolkien's books as a teenager, she had always loved the elf characters the most; but after being dumped into Middle-earth, it was like something had flipped inside of her. Her fascination for the elves had turned into fear, and no matter how much she tried to rationalize it to herself, she couldn't. Hobbits and dwarves were one thing; she could rationalize their existence. But elves? They were more eerie than a Vala and a wizard, and she had faced both.

"Do you have something to say, Miss Miller, or are you just going to stand there for the rest of the night?"

She winced, turning to see Thorin and Gandalf both staring at her where she stood, clearly eavesdropping. Thorin was scowling, arms crossed, while Gandalf frowned deeply from beside him, but their anger wasn't directed at her, she was relieved to see.

Since her cover was blown, she left Molly to graze outside the ruins while she joined them within the structure, stepping over fallen beams and loose stones until she stood with them amongst the rubble.

"What's the issue?" she said, copying Thorin and folding her arms.

"The wizard wants to take refuge with the Elves of Rivendell," Thorin said, nearly spitting out the words.

"And I'm guessing you don't like these elves?" When Thorin's scowl deepened, she shrugged. "Can't blame you."

They turned to stare at her questioningly, and she held up her hands defensively. "What? They're creepy. All immortal and all-knowing with their voodoo nature magic and shit. It's weird. I vote we steer clear."

Thorin eyed her appraisingly while Gandalf looked like he wished she had never run him down in Bree.

 _"But,"_ she continued, "I have to agree with Gandalf. We should go for…supplies."

She had almost said _the map,_ but she remembered at the last second that she wasn't supposed to know about the map Gandalf had given to Thorin. And as much as she wanted to avoid the elves (preferably for the rest of her tenure in Middle-earth), she knew that they had to decipher that map if they were going to make it into the Lonely Mountain, especially since she couldn't recall what it said for the life of her.

Thorin's look of approval had turned into one of betrayal, but Gandalf turned to him almost smugly.

"Indeed," he said. "And we have a map we cannot read; Lord Elrond could help us."

Kate cringed at the mention of the Lord of Rivendell. She wouldn't deny that Elrond was a total badass character, but there was something about meeting the real-life version of him that made her queasy. She had a clear picture in her mind of what she thought the elves looked like and how they acted from reading the books, and she didn't want that image to be ruined by waltzing into Rivendell and facing her new reality. The book-elves were sacred to her; she had always wanted to be one (she had even used to imagine herself as Arwen's sister and having Aragorn fall in love with her instead), and she didn't want the real-elves to take that away from her.

"Help?" Thorin spat. "A dragon attacks Erebor – what help came from the elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, while the elves looked on and did nothing!" Thorin was seething, glaring up at the wizard with hard blue eyes. "You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather and my father? For _help?"_

"You are neither Thrór nor Thráin," Gandalf snapped. "And besides, it was not Lord Elrond who abandoned you at Erebor. That blame lies with King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm." Kate sucked on her teeth, standing awkwardly while the two argued, but she saw a shadow pass over Thorin's face at the mention of Thranduil. She was surprised to hear the elf's name herself; she knew he played a part within the story, but she had no idea he had played _that_ significant of a part. "I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past, Thorin Oakenshield."

"I did not know they were yours to keep," said Thorin coldly.

Gandalf looked on the verge of arguing further before abruptly turning and striding away, back in the direction of the Road. Kate watched him go, thinking that the wizard was being rather childish, before she realized she had been left alone with Thorin, who was standing next to her and glaring after Gandalf.

She cleared her throat, making to move away, but he shook his head at her, saying, "Stay."

She frowned, wondering if it was a royal thing that made Thorin so prone to commands or whether that was just his personality, but she stayed where she was.

With Gandalf gone, some of the anger had dissipated from Thorin's demeanor, but he still looked tense. He tore his eyes away from the spot where Gandalf had disappeared over the ridge, looking back to her with an inscrutable gaze.

"You do not like elves," he stated. "Why?"

Kate sighed; she knew Thorin would have caught on to that.

"It's nothing," she said, scuffing her shoe along the dirt and grime on the floor and shrugging. "Stupid, really…"

When he continued to stare at her, waiting for an answer, she shook her head, scoffing.

"As you know already, this world is very different from my own," she said. "Hobbits and dwarves…while a shock, I got used to them. But elves…" She inhaled deeply. "There's nothing like them in my world – nothing _real,_ anyway."

"They frighten you?"

"No, I – it's complicated," she said, her shoulders dropping in defeat. "There's no way to explain it."

"You crave normalcy," he said, and her head snapped up when he spoke. He was still looking at her, but he seemed ponderous now, as if she were a difficult math problem he had been asked to solve. "Everything about this world is vastly different from yours, it sounds like, and you wish it wasn't. And for you, the elves—" His face soured at the word – "are the embodiment of what you cannot have – normalcy."

 _And now I'm being psychoanalyzed by a dwarf. Thanks, Mahal._

She shrugged again, but she couldn't help feeling a bit…violated. Thorin had reached inside her and plucked out one of her greatest insecurities and laid it out like she was an open book. The thought was disconcerting, and she wondered what other insecurities she was doing a terrible job of concealing were.

"Do you think Gandalf will be back anytime soon?" she asked in lieu of replying to his statement. "If not, I call dibs on his dinner portion."

Thorin seemed annoyed that she had changed the topic, but he nodded nonetheless. "Trust me, the wizard will return." He mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, "I hope" before raising his voice and saying, "We should settle our things before all the soft patches of dirt are gone."

Kate looked to him with raised brows at his wry tone. "So, he does joke?"

He didn't look at her when he moved off, but she saw his lips twitch. "Occasionally."

Kate stood by herself in the ruins, stumped. If Thorin kept up his civil attitude towards her, then perhaps persuading him into letting the other dwarves know of her true purpose wasn't so far out of her reach as she had predicted. But if Thorin Oakenshield continued to make _jokes…_

Well, _then_ she might be in trouble.

* * *

"He's been a long time."

Kate stopped scarfing down her stew long enough to glance up to Bilbo, who had been pacing anxiously at the edge of their campfire circle and casting nervous looks to the ridge for the last thirty minutes. Though Kate and the rest of the dwarves were still eating, Bilbo had finished half of his stew and dumped the rest into Kate's chipped wooden bowl in favor of being a twitchy ball of anxiety.

"It's Gandalf," she pointed out between bites. "He's a free spirit."

"Aye," Bofur agreed from beside her, who had unabashedly been listening in on their conversation. "The wizard does as he chooses. There's no need to worry, Mister Bilbo."

Bilbo looked as if he wanted nothing more than to worry, and Bofur seemed to recognize this too, for he got up and approached the pot of stew over the fire. "Here, this'll give you something to do. Take some supper to the lads before it's all gone."

He jerked his head toward the forest beyond, where Fíli and Kíli had taken the ponies earlier, and though Bilbo looked like he wanted to object, he accepted the two bowls Bofur handed him with a polite nod before scampering off.

Kate watched him disappear into the trees; night had fallen already, and the shadows were thick in their little nook above the Road. The farmhouse stood eerie and dilapidated in the distance, and it was hard not to imagine it being haunted. She wondered what had happened to the people who used to live there, if they moved somewhere else and left their old home abandoned, or if they had vanished because of some monster in the woods.

 _What is wrong with you?_ she demanded of herself. _Five years you've lived here and suddenly there's one creepy house by the woods and you turn into a scared little girl._

"How are ya tonight, Miss Miller?"

She turned to see that Bofur had returned to his place beside her, smiling at her with his signature grin and dimples. She swallowed the large bite of stew in her mouth with some difficulty, as it was still quite hot, and Bofur chuckled as she began to cough, her eyes watering.

"No need to be so hasty," he said jokingly, passing her his water-skin. She accepted it gratefully and took a few sips until it no longer felt like she was choking before handing it back to him.

"Thanks," she rasped.

He nodded, still looking highly amused as he turned back to her.

"Now," he said cheerfully, "let's try that again."

"I'm all right," she said, shrugging. "How are you?"

"My arse has been sore for the last two days and there's an itch on my back I can't reach, but other than that, I've been enjoying myself," he said, and Kate marveled at how he was always able to put a positive spin on the worst things.

"I can scratch your back, if you'd like," she offered, and his face lit up.

"Really?" he said. "Ah, lass, you're a lifesaver." He turned around eagerly and pointed to a spot just below his shoulder blade. "Right there, the little bugger…"

Kate began scratching, adjusting every so often with his instructions: "A little higher…to the left more… _there."_

He sighed in relief as she dug her nails in, having to fight to reach his skin through the layers he wore, but when he was satisfied he reached his arm behind him and patted her on the head.

"You're the greatest, Miss Miller," he said. "I'm glad Thorin let you come with us."

She refrained from snorting at that; it had been more a matter of her forcing herself upon Thorin than him willing to let her come, but she didn't say that to Bofur. Instead she patted the top of his hat and said, "Kate, please. 'Miss Miller' is too stuffy."

He laughed, spinning on his bum to face her again. "Very well. Kate it is."

She smiled at him, and they lapsed into companionable silence until Bofur knocked her shoulder with his again, nearly bruising her in the process.

"So, Kate," he said, and she tensed instinctively at the inquiry in his tone. "What happened to all the suitors you left behind, eh? A pretty lass like yourself surely had some pining boys after ya?"

Kate laughed out loud at the absurdity of the question, garnering the attention of half the circle, and she covered her mouth quickly at the questioning looks the others were giving her. Bofur looked bemused, and she lowered her voice so only he could hear.

"Oh, no," she said, "nothing like that."

"What d'you mean?" he asked. "I thought Men married around your age?"

She stared down at her empty bowl, awkward. "I just…never wanted to marry." She shrugged half-heartedly. "I've never found anyone worth the time."

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Rodric had been worth her time, but anything more than the bed they shared at night would have been impossible. He had been the son of a well-respected, noble horse-lord, and she had had to leave to go on a quest that wasn't hers to save a world she wasn't from. Marriage was the furthest thing from her mind in Middle-earth, but when she returned to her own world she would like to be married, maybe have some children after she went back to school and graduated. But that life seemed so far away it was almost laughable.

Bofur seemed surprised. "You'd marry for love, then?"

 _Oh, right,_ she thought. _Medieval times or whatever._

"It's preferable to the alternative," she said. "Getting married off to some stranger with a dowry or something like that."

"Aye," he said, nodding along thoughtfully, and she was relieved that she hadn't offended or scandalized him in any way (not that she wouldn't have cared if she had, but considering he was one of her few allies, she really didn't want to push him away so soon).

"What about you?" she said, genuinely curious. "Would you rather be married or continue to enjoy the bachelor life?"

"I'm much like you on that one, lass," he said, grinning. "I'd only marry if I found my One."

"That's sweet," she said. "But you never know who they'll be unless you get out there and mingle—but you're a dwarf, you have plenty of time for the dating scene – er, courting – and all that—"

"What?" Bofur said, staring at her as if she were spouting nonsense – which, in all honesty, she usually was. "What are ya on about?"

She paused, uncertain. "I thought people courted?"

"Well, yes…" Bofur scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "But dwarves don't normally court, not unless they've found their One."

"Their One," she repeated. "Is that like some soulmate thing?"

He gave a noncommittal grunt. "Essentially, yes. It's a sacred bond, very old – most people believe it's outdated now, a tradition best left for the past."

"But you don't think so?"

He shook his head, now looking somewhat embarrassed. "Well, you see, there's always been fewer dwarrowdams – dwarf-women – than the men. But nowadays, a dwarrowdam giving birth to a daughter is a rare occurrence, which is why dwarves cherish their women so much. And with fewer women being born than men…well, most choose to ignore the bond of their One, since they often spend years searching, and they never find them. Instead they simply marry for necessity.

"Not saying that there's no love involved," he added hastily. "I've seen many partnerships founded on love and respect. But there's something about the idea of having a One that I like." He snorted. "Bleeding, hopeless romantic that I am."

Kate laughed.

"It's sweet," she assured him. "I think it's admirable to wait for someone you love."

He flushed pink, patting her knee as he cleared his throat. "Thank you, lass. I probably shouldn've told ya all that – sensitive topic and all," he said to her questioning look. "Dwarves don' like outsiders knowing their secrets, but I trust you."

Kate stared, touched. He trusted her?

She floundered for something to say, but he waved her off with a good-natured smile. "Don' mention it, lass." He suddenly grimaced. "But, really, er, please don' mention I told ya anything…"

"Your secret is safe with me," she promised, and he patted her knee again before turning to Bifur, who was sitting on his other side.

Kate smiled down to her bowl, Bofur's words warming her more than the stew she had just eaten. She happened to glance up just then, and met Thorin's eyes across the circle, but the dwarf-king looked away quickly, an odd expression on his face. Shrugging it off, Kate went to rinse out her bowl, when suddenly Fíli and Kíli came crashing out of the trees, pelting for their camp.

The dwarves were on their feet instantly as the two princes came into their circle, panting and looking quite panicked.

"Trolls—" Kíli gasped, clutching at a stitch in his side. "In the woods—"

"Have the ponies—" Fíli groaned, his forehead beaded with sweat and his mustache braids dangling wildly.

"Wait," Kate said, her eyes searching the two dwarves and then to the trees beyond. "Where's Bilbo?"

The princes traded a guilty glance, and Kate discarded her bowl carelessly as she marched up to them. "Where the hell is he?"

"He's freeing the ponies," said Fíli with a grimace.

"You left him in there with _trolls?"_ she said shrilly, a sickening feeling settling in her gut as she remembered something. _The trolls, the goddamn trolls! Dammit, Kate, why didn't you remember the bloody trolls?_

"We thought he'd be better suited for sneaking around, being a burglar and all," Kíli said defensively.

Kate turned to Thorin, panicking. He must have been thinking the same thing, for he grabbed his sword and gestured for the others to do the same. "Come. The hobbit may need our help."

He said it as if he didn't have very much confidence in Bilbo to be able to do the task, but that was the least of Kate's worries at the moment. If the company went into the woods to confront the trolls, they would be captured, and the trolls would attempt to cook them for dinner. That was what happened in the book, at least. But what if her presence changed things in the book? What if they actually _were_ eaten, and Gandalf never came back to save them from their fate?

"No!" Kate said without thinking, and the dwarves halted in their tracks, staring at her.

"What is the matter, Miss Miller?" said Thorin exasperatedly. "You may stay behind if that is what you wish—"

"No," she said again, shaking her head quickly. "Just…I think it would be smarter if some people stayed behind to guard the camp."

Thorin looked suspicious. "Why?"

"Maybe Bilbo managed to free the ponies already," she said. "Do you really need everyone to go check?"

Thorin turned to Fíli. "How many trolls?"

"Three," he said, giving Kate a weird look.

"If Master Baggins failed in his task, then it will take all of us to fight three trolls," he said, turning back to her. "Unless you have another idea?"

Kate squirmed beneath all their gazes, but an idea had popped into her head as soon as Thorin had spoken. It was insane, and would probably get her killed, but at least all of them wouldn't be captured.

"A distraction," she said. "Trolls turn into stone when it's daylight, right? If we can occupy them long enough to free the ponies and Bilbo – if he got caught – then we can just let the sun do our job for us."

"Dawn is hours away," Dwalin objected. "What would you have us do until then? Sing drinking songs and ask the trolls for a dance?"

The dwarves snickered at this, but Kate looked to Thorin pleadingly. He had to see the logic – however small their chances of success were – in her plan. And she knew that he would rather risk as few lives as he could versus his whole company.

"What do you propose, Miss Miller?" he asked her.

She grinned nervously. "This might sound crazy, but…"

* * *

"This is madness."

Kate gave Thorin a sidelong glance as they trekked through the dark trees, seeing him scowling into the distance as if the very woods had offended him. "You're the one who agreed to it."

He turned his scowl on her. "I only agreed to keep the majority of the company out of danger, but if your plan fails, we risk them anyway."

"But if my plan works, then we don't risk anybody," she pointed out, and he huffed.

"I just hope you know what you're doing," he grumbled.

 _Yeah, buddy, me too._

They headed toward the source of light that was the trolls' fire after Fíli and Kíli had led them to their camp. Thorin had sent the two princes back to join the half of the company that was waiting in the woods for their signal should anything go wrong. Nori (who was apparently the fastest of the dwarves) had been stationed within hearing distance of the group, so if they charged the trolls' camp, he could run back to the company's camp and rally the rest of the dwarves to be their reinforcements.

That had all been Thorin's idea, of course. Her idea wasn't nearly as sane as his.

"You remember what to do, right?" she whispered to him as they crept closer to the camp. The question was more to reassure herself than anything; she was already sweating bullets from anxiety, and her heart was throwing a tantrum against her ribcage, screaming for her to go back to the camp where it was safe. She ignored it, however, as Thorin nodded.

"Yes, I remember," he said, sounding miffed that she would even think he would forget. She nodded, swallowing nervously, but before they took another step Thorin stopped her with a hand on her elbow.

"You're shaking," he said, indicating her trembling fingers, but she hid them behind her back quickly. He looked up at her, frowning. "Are you sure you can do this?"

"I'm sure," she said, wishing that it didn't sound like such a filthy lie. No, she was _not_ sure she could do this, but she had to try. Even if she died, the company had to go on without her to complete their quest. And who knew? Maybe Mahal would see her sacrifice and send her back to Earth before she was killed for at least attempting to fulfill her task, that way she didn't have to deal with any more craziness.

Thorin searched her face, his eyes a deep indigo in the night.

"Have courage, Miss Miller," he said, squeezing her elbow. "And know that you are not alone."

It wasn't the greatest pep talk in the world, but the way he said it made her resolve steady, and she steeled herself with a deep breath.

"Right." She nodded and squared her shoulders. "I can do this. Let's go."

Without waiting for an answer, she marched into the trolls' camp, coming face-to-face with the ugliest, smelliest creatures she had ever had the misfortune to encounter.

She took stock of her surroundings very quickly, analyzing; the three trolls were each about ten feet tall, with grey skin that already very much resembled rock, but fortunately for her, they seemed to have the intelligence of one, too. They were sitting around a very large fire that had a bubbling cauldron so big it could fit thirteen dwarves, a human, and a hobbit in it, and a spit that was large enough to roast an elephant on between them. To their right stood a makeshift corral, and she could see the company's ponies jostling about within, their eyes rolling in fear as they let out distressed noises. And behind them, tied to the base of a tree and seemingly unconscious, was Bilbo.

"Evening, gentlemen," she said, swaggering into their clearing with false confidence even as she wanted nothing more than to fall at their feet screaming and crying. "Lovely night we're having, isn't it?"

The three trolls stared at her, gobsmacked.

"Who are you?" one of them demanded, his beady eyes comically wide.

"Why, I'm the sorceress of these woods, of course!" She curtsied as gracefully as she could (which was not graceful at all) before she straightened, fixing them with a beatific smile.

"Sorceress?" the second one said skeptically. "There's no sorceress in these parts."

"My dear," said Kate, placing her hands over her chest as if she were wounded. "Who on earth told you such a preposterous thing?"

"You're not a sorceress," the third said, glaring at her suspiciously. "You don't smell like one."

"And I suppose you're an expert on what sorceresses smell like?" she asked. He seemed stumped by her question, but the first troll spoke up again.

"If you're a sorceress, then prove it," he said, and she smiled at him.

"Certainly." _All right, Thorin, come through._ She raised her arms above her head, wiggling her fingers to give the signal, and the tree above her began shaking wildly, its branches snapping and its leaves rustling from where Thorin was moving around.

The trolls were staring at the tree now, half-awed, half-fearful, and she lowered her arms, the tree ceasing its movement immediately.

"See?" she said brightly. "The trees are my children; these woods are their home. I came because they told me there were trespassers, and now I must ask you to leave."

"You what?" the first troll said angrily. "We're not going anywhere, sorceress!"

"Maybe we should listen to her," the second troll said, still eyeing the tree warily.

"Bollocks!" the third said, and Kate blinked; since when did trolls say 'bollocks'? "She can't make us do anything."

"On the contrary, I think you'll find that I can," she said, making her appearance seem as threatening as possible. "If you don't let those poor creatures go and leave right now, then I'm afraid I'll have to kill you like all the other intruders who dared disobey me."

The second troll whimpered, shrinking back from her. "Just do what she says!"

She thought for one fleeting moment that she would be victorious, but all her hopes were dashed away when a groggy voice said, "Kate?"

They all whirled to see Bilbo stirring in his bonds, gazing at Kate blearily. "Kate, is that you?"

Kate's heart stopped in dread as the trolls looked back and forth between her and Bilbo, bewildered, but she forced herself to laugh.

"Of course it's me, my loyal subject," she said. "Kate, the Sorceress of the Wood!"

Bilbo stared at her, perplexed. "The Sorceress of…wait, what? What's going on?"

"Poor thing," she said, turning back to the trolls. "He must've hit his head so hard…"

"You're a liar!" the first troll said, pointing to her furiously. "See, I told you, she's not a sorceress!"

Kate stood, openmouthed, as the trolls got to their feet, glowering down at her. She was sure she was about to be pummeled into a pulp, but Bilbo suddenly began shouting from behind them.

"Wait!" he cried, gazing at her through squinted eyes. "Is that…the Sorceress of the Wood? Lady Kate!" He struggled against his bonds, and Kate gaped at him. "My sweet lady, how good it is to see you! I got lost searching for your…woodland…jewels, and then I was taken captive by these trolls!" He faced the trolls bravely, and Kate finally realized that he was covering for her. "Mark my words, you don't want to face the wrath of the Lady Kate. Just this morning she turned a wolf into a frog because it looked at her the wrong way."

The trolls stood, uncertain, and Kate pressed her luck.

"Give up the ponies and my subject, and I will spare your lives," she said, drawing herself up to her full height and staring them down.

"Then you will die, sorceress!" the first troll roared, raising his club and charging at her before she had time to process what was happening.

She stood rooted to the spot as the troll came for her, but before he could beat her into bloody jelly, Thorin launched himself out of the tree with a battle cry, swinging his sword. It slashed across the troll's face and sent him stumbling back, clutching his bleeding eye as he howled in pain.

Thorin dropped to the ground beside her, rolling to break his fall before getting back to his feet and pushing her behind him, shouting, _"DU-BEKÂR!"_

A chorus of _"DU-BEKÂR! DU-BEKÂR!"_ answered from the trees, and in the next moment, the group of dwarves including Dwalin, Dori, Fíli, Kíli, and Glóin came crashing out of the undergrowth, running to meet the trolls with weapons raised.

Thorin turned to face her, still standing in front of her protectively. "Free Bilbo and the ponies and wait for the others to arrive."

She nodded, fumbling to remove her sword from its scabbard, but she looked up when he placed his hand over her own.

"Be careful," he said. "Do not be seen."

He rushed off to join the fray before she could reply, but her hand still tingled from where his own had been as she unsheathed her sword and ran towards where Bilbo was still tied to the tree, watching the fight with wide eyes.

"Kate!" he said when she approached. "I'm so sorry – I tried to help—"

"You did wonderful," she said. "Now, hold still."

She brought her sword over her head and swung it down, the blade cutting through the ropes easily. Bilbo scrambled to his feet, rubbing his chafed wrists, but she grabbed his hand and ushered him forward.

"C'mon," she said. "We have to get the ponies loose."

They dodged and weaved through the skirmish, avoiding the dwarves' weapons and the trolls' feet, until they came to the ponies. They were rearing in fright and braying, but Kate brought her sword down again, splitting the pen open and slapping the ponies on their rumps to send them on their way.

"OI!"

One of the trolls had seen them and began to rush towards them, the ground shaking, but the bushes behind them exploded with battle cries, and the second onslaught of the dwarves came charging out of the woods.

"Come on!" Kate cried, pulling Bilbo after her. "We have to figure out a way to stall the trolls until dawn—"

"We don't have to!" Bilbo shouted. He pointed over her shoulder, and she followed his finger to see the sky to the east lightening with the first hints of dawn.

"We still need sunlight!" She suddenly focused on a huge rock on the outskirts of the clearing, and another insane idea began to take root. "Follow me!"

They scrambled through the trees and undergrowth at the edges of the clearing, and Kate cast an anxious look to the fight. Neither side seemed to be gaining an upper hand, but she took this as a good sign if none of the dwarves had been injured or killed yet. She saw Thorin whirling through the fray like a shadow, slashing and stabbing at the trolls with cool, concentrated skill and finesse. He was a great fighter, she realized, but she was so intent on watching that she didn't see what she had crashed into until she was sent plummeting to the ground, taking Bilbo with her as he cried out.

Kate struggled to her feet, raising her sword, but she froze when she saw Gandalf standing over her, staff in hand and watching the fight with an intrigued, but unsurprised expression.

"Gandalf," she gasped. "The rock – can you—"

She gestured to the boulder behind him, and a knowing twinkle lit up his eyes as he turned to see it.

"Ah, of course," he said. "A smart plan, my dear girl."

He whisked off before she could say more, and she could only pray that he indeed knew what she had meant as she turned back to Bilbo.

"Stay here," she ordered, and he nodded, looking quite happy to be out of the fighting as she waded in.

She came up behind one of the trolls and sliced her blade across the back of its knee, sending it off-balance with a yowl of pain. She avoided its trampling feet and joined Thorin in jabbing at its legs, trying to help bring it down.

"Took you long enough," he grunted, stabbing with his blade as they fought shoulder-to-shoulder.

"You're welcome," she said through gritted teeth, dancing out of the way of the troll's foot as it attempted to flatten her.

"Any more brilliant plans to get us out of this mess?" he asked her, and she shot him a grin as the troll finally sank to its knees, wailing.

"I thought I'd let the wizard take care of the rest," she said, before plunging her sword into the troll's chest.

At the same time, a deafening _CRACK_ echoed throughout the clearing, and she turned to see Gandalf standing atop the boulder, the butt of his staff sinking into the rock as if it were butter.

"The dawn will take you all!" he declared in a booming voice and gave his staff a sharp twist.

The rock crumbled in half, allowing bright sunlight to seep into the clearing and bathe them in brilliance. Kate covered her eyes against the light as the trolls began to scream and writhe in pain, and she yanked her sword out of the troll she had stabbed as it turned to stone, its face still contorted in a silent roar.

The dwarves stood, shocked, until Kate turned to Thorin with a smirk. "Told you it would work."

He only sighed in response.

* * *

 **Please review! I'd love to know your thoughts!**

 **As you can tell, I took a lot of creative liberties with this chapter, so any thoughts would be much appreciated!**

 **xx**


	8. A Potential Problem

**Disclaimer:** _All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

 **This chapter personally kicked down my door and demanded to be written, so if it's not up to par, I was under duress, I swear.**

 **Thanks for sticking with me, though, and thanks for all the new favorites/follows, and of course to my wonderful reviewers from last time: lindir's gaze, ColdOnePaul, ro781727, pallysd'Artagnan, Aigo Snape, Jemstone6259, BrownEyedGirl87, Jinx1223, Mayasha-chan, Sky0828, Buckbeak3798, wickedgrl123, Tsubahime, Purple1209, Guest 1, Guest 2, and Guest 3!**

* * *

Chapter Eight: A Potential Problem

Thorin led a group to find the trolls' hoard amongst the caves they'd stumbled upon after their quarry had turned to stone, commanding the rest of them to pack up camp and meet them back at the caves once they were finished.

Kate, naturally, got left behind as Thorin and Gandalf led their party into the woods, without so much as even a thank-you for all her hard work. Yes, perhaps her plan didn't go quite as smoothly as she'd hoped, but they'd made it out alive, right? That ought to count for something in her book, but she swallowed down her bitterness and instead focused on the task at hand, which required burying the ashes from their fire and scattering the blackened kindling to make it look like there'd never been a fire in the first place. It was boring, mindless work, and since she hadn't gotten the opportunity to sleep the night before, it was making her sluggish and irritable.

 _Stupid, ungrateful dwarf,_ she thought vehemently, glaring in the direction Thorin had gone as she kicked dirt over their fire. _Thanks for risking your life, Kate! You could've been eaten or crushed to death by massive trolls, but you managed to save all of us_ and _the ponies! How could I ever doubt you?_

 _Whatever. I don't need his gratitude. I just need him to see how far I'm willing to go to help him and his company. His trust is what I'm after – not his approval._

For some reason, this put her in a fouler mood than before, and she stomped away the ashes under her boots vigorously, grumbling to herself all the while.

"Everything looks good," said Fíli to the rest of them. "Let's head back to the caves."

With their packs and supplies in hand, the rest of their party trekked through the woods, following the dreadful scent that permeated the air around them that indicated the troll hoard was nearby. Kate refrained from gagging at the smell, instead breathing deeply through her mouth and out her nose. She was so intent on her breathing technique that she hadn't noticed Bilbo walking by her side until he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Kate," he said, looking down at his feet with furrowed brows.

"What for?" she said, baffled.

"I mucked up your plan," he said miserably. "We could've made it out of there without a fight, but I had to go and ruin everything. It was my fault too for getting caught – I tried to rescue the ponies, but the trolls saw me—"

Kate put a hand on his shoulder to silence him. "Bilbo," she said firmly, "you did everything you could. Sometimes things don't go the way we plan. You can't blame yourself for it. If anything, we were the ones who made the mistake of staying when Gandalf recommended we find somewhere else. So, really, all of us messed up in a way."

The hobbit still looked quite downtrodden, but before Kate could say more, she was hit with quite possibly the worst scent she had ever smelled – some vile combination of rotting meat, excrement, and the musty smell of a cave. She dry-heaved into her sleeve as Bilbo pinched his nose, waving the air in front of him in vain, and the dwarves that were with them began to groan and grumble at the smell.

"Guess we found the troll hoard," she rasped through watering eyes. "Jesus, this place reeks."

"Let's go sit over here," said Bilbo, leading her away from the cave mouth, where the stench was the worst. They stayed in sight of the company and the cave, but at least over here Kate could breathe without feeling like she was about to vomit.

They sat in silence for a moment, basking in the relief of having escaped such a horrendous stench, before Bilbo turned to her hesitantly. "Kate, do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Go for it," she said, too distracted by swatting a fly away to notice the true nature of his question.

"Well, it's just that – and I'm not the only one who's noticed, either – just, ah… Why do you speak so strangely?" He said this last part in a rush, and Kate abandoned her fruitless defense against the fly, letting it buzz around her head as she stared at Bilbo, panic blooming in her belly.

"What?" she said, stalling for time, and Bilbo scratched his cheek absently, looking increasingly awkward.

"I mean, besides some of the things you say that don't make any sense – like earlier, when you said that 'Jesus' word – your accent is very…peculiar." He glanced at her sidelong, where she had frozen much like the trolls had when they turned to stone. "I guess I – _we_ – were just curious."

Kate sat, still and quiet, even though her mind was running in circles and screaming desperately. She'd always tried to be careful about her speech in Middle-earth – after all, a Bostonian accent was hard to get rid of overnight, and she wasn't used to speaking like some thirteenth century noble – but she guessed she'd done a poor job of hiding it if Bilbo and the others had begun to pick up on it. Perhaps Thorin had something to do with it, as well; since he already knew where she truly came from, she'd let her guard down just a little bit around him, but she supposed she forgot to put it back up around everyone else. This thought only made her angrier at the dwarf for denying her to tell the truth to the others, and she breathed deeply to calm herself before attempting to answer Bilbo in a way that wouldn't make him more suspicious or get her into deeper shit with Thorin.

Fortunately, whatever higher power was watching over her (she refused to believe it was Mahal) spared her from explaining an impossible situation, for at that moment the party from the troll hoard emerged from the cave, coughing and cursing, and they turned to see Gandalf walking towards them, a small sheathed blade in his hand and a new sword hanging from his hip.

Kate could have wept in relief at the sight of Gandalf and the elvish blades, leaping to her feet while Bilbo scrambled to stand from behind her.

"Bilbo, here," the wizard said, holding out the smaller blade to the hobbit. "See what you make of this."

While Bilbo spluttered over the weapon, Kate slipped away unnoticed, willing her heart to stop beating so damn fast. That had been a close call, but the most nerve-wracking thing to her was how many more of these questions would she have to dodge in the future? Bilbo had mentioned that the others had noticed her oddities as well, and if they suspected something was off with her, how was she supposed to accomplish anything?

 _I have to talk to Thorin,_ she concluded. _I have to make him listen. I can't keep up this secret forever – I have to convince him to let me tell the others what I'm truly here for._

As if her thoughts had summoned him, the dark-haired dwarf appeared before her so suddenly that she ran directly into him, bouncing slightly off his chest. He didn't budge at all, of course, only looking to her in disgruntlement.

"Miss Miller," he said brusquely, inclining his head to her. "Can I help you?"

She stared at him incredulously for a few seconds, amazed by the audacity of his question, before saying, "Yes, actually. I have a bone to pick with you, but first, you can start off by saying thank you."

One of his eyebrows ticked up, but the rest of his face remained impassive, and her annoyance flared dangerously. "And what am I thanking you for?"

"How about rescuing Bilbo and the ponies from those trolls?"

His expression soured at this, but she crossed her arms adamantly.

"If I recall correctly, your plan resulted in you almost getting crushed to death by said trolls, leaving my company and I to interfere until the wizard's timely arrival."

"So, maybe nothing went as planned," she said, figuring she was in too deep now to back down, "but at least I thought of something else before we went in charging blindly!"

Thorin sighed. "I concede that to you, Miss Miller, but that doesn't change the fact that you endangered my company and yourself by thinking you could stroll into the heart of a troll's camp and leave unscathed."

"Then why did you agree to my plan?" she demanded, before the answer fell right into her lap and brought her up short. "You were testing me," she accused. "You knew my plan sucked, but you wanted to see what I would do."

He nodded, not looking fazed in the least by her thunderous expression. "I told you, Miss Miller – I do not give my trust lightly. When you earn it, you'll know."

She scowled. "And have I earned it now?"

He said nothing, only sizing her up, and she tried not to squirm under his scrutiny, only meeting his eyes defiantly when they trailed back up to hers. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, a sudden crash echoed in the trees around them, and the company froze instantly, already on their guard.

"What was that?" Kate said, her hand moving to the grip of her sword, but Thorin shook his head, as confused as she was.

"Together!" Thorin cried, striding to stand at the head of the company as they scurried into a pack. "On me!"

Kate took a position between Bilbo and Gandalf, subtly positioning herself in front of the hobbit as they all looked around wildly at the sounds of snapping branches and rustling undergrowth. Whatever was coming was _big_ and was heading right for them, and Kate drew her sword as Gandalf did the same next to her.

"THIEVES! FIRE! MURDER!"

Someone was yelling, and the crashing became louder, the ground beginning to tremble beneath their feet the closer it got. Kate and Gandalf exchanged a hard glance, and Thorin barked something in the dwarf tongue just as a massive shape broke through the trees and into their clearing.

Rabbits. That was Kate's first impression. She blinked, hard, but when she opened her eyes again, there were still…rabbits. Drawing a sleigh. With what looked like Gandalf's deranged hippie cousin hitching a ride…on the sleigh…pulled by rabbits.

"What the hell?" she said aloud.

"Um, what she said," said Bilbo faintly from behind her.

"Radagast?" Gandalf said, surprised. Then, to everyone: "It is Radagast the Brown! Lower your weapons, Master Dwarves. Let me see what he is doing here."

"Gandalf, thank goodness!" the man named Radagast said, nearly tumbling into the other wizard's arms in relief. "Spiders – the Greenwood – darkness—"

"Come, Radagast," said Gandalf, leading the Brown Wizard away from the others as he continued to ramble. They disappeared into the surrounding trees, and Kate sheathed her sword with a huff. _Looks like I don't get to name you today, buddy._

The company had started to disperse now that the threat had passed, but Kate kept to the edges of the group, suddenly apprehensive to speak to anyone now that she was aware of their suspicions.

She wandered to the opposite side of the clearing and found an uprooted tree covered in moss that she used as a seat, plopping herself down with a sigh. She was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to sleep, but Mahal must've been particularly finnicky with her that day, for no sooner had her butt touched the bark than Thorin was back, standing over her with a frown.

"Yes?" she said, raising a brow when he did not immediately speak. "Nice sword, by the way." She nodded to the new elvish blade he carried, and he scowled. "Vintage is in, last I heard."

He didn't laugh at her joke, even if he understood it, and she sighed.

"You've earned it," he said, and her head snapped up in surprise. He was gazing at her steadily, his eyes clear and calm, and she gaped at him like a fish out of water. "Tonight, you will tell the others about your mark."

"But…why?" she asked, astonished. "I mean, what made you change your mind?"

His lips curled ever so slightly in a wry smirk, and she listened, amazed, as he said, "It's not every day someone poses as a sorceress of the wood and risks their life to protect your kin."

Kate stared for several moments, temporarily speechless, until her mouth split in a wide grin, a laugh bubbling in her chest. Thorin smiled – a true, genuine smile – and she thought the trolls must have killed her after all at the sight of it. The odd swoop she felt in her stomach made her realize that she was still very much alive, however, and that she now had another potential problem on her hands that had everything to do with Thorin Oakenshield once again, but for an entirely different reason.

After a few moments, Thorin shifted and cleared his throat, glancing at a spot over her shoulder while Kate forced herself to stop smiling, wondering if he had somehow been able to read her thoughts. Before she could conjure something else to say, however, Thorin's hand had locked her shoulder in a vice grip, and she looked up, startled, to see him frozen over her, his eyes latched on something behind her.

"Miss Miller," he said, very quietly, "do not move."

Her spine had locked in place at the warning in his tone, and she sat, listening, as the bushes behind her rustled. There was another sound too, this one low and deep, almost vibrating in her chest, and she realized with a flash of fear that it was a _growl._

"A wolf?" she whispered. Her shoulder was beginning to ache from how hard he was gripping it, and he shook his head slowly.

"Worse," he said.

And then it lunged.

Kate was shoved facedown on the ground as the creature leapt out of the bushes with a roar, its paws hitting the dirt only a few feet from her head and kicking dust into her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to see through the tears that had sprung forth, as all around them the woods came alive with snarls, shouts, and the ring of weapons as they were attacked.

Scrabbling for her sword, Kate lurched to her knees and managed to yank it from her scabbard, still blinking the dirt and tears from her vision. Her sight cleared, only for a monstrous, furry beast to keel over, dead, before her, its open maw spraying her with saliva and blood from its last breath. Thorin stood over the giant wolf-like creature, his new sword coated in red, and his eyes were blown wide when they met hers over the corpse. She realized, belatedly, that he had just saved her life, but before she could say anything, his hand was out, reaching for her.

"Come," he urged. "There are others."

She grasped his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet, and they ran into the clearing just in time to see Kíli take down one of the beasts with a well-placed arrow as Dwalin, Bofur, and Bifur killed another with a savage blow to its head.

"Warg scouts!" Thorin said. "Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

"Orc pack?" Bilbo squeaked, staring at the warg Dwalin had crushed to death with his axe with an ill expression.

Gandalf and Radagast had rushed to meet them during the commotion, and the Grey Wizard whirled on Thorin with a thunderous expression.

"Who did you tell of your quest, beyond your kin?" he demanded.

"No one," Thorin said.

 _"Who did you tell?"_ he repeated.

"No one, I swear!" Thorin's eyes nearly shot sparks as he took a step toward the wizard, accidentally dragging Kate along with him, as he seemed to have forgotten his hold on her hand. "What in Durin's name is going on?"

"You are being hunted," said Gandalf gravely, and the company collectively shuddered at his ominous tone as he turned on Kate. "Did you know about this?"

"W-what?" she said, baffled.

Gandalf seemed as if he wanted to bash her over the head with his staff. "Did you know of this?"

It took her a few moments to register what he was asking her; he wanted to know if her "foresight" had seen this attack coming, but she didn't remember the company being attacked by wargs or orcs until much later in the story.

She shook her head mutely, her eyes straying to the drying blood on Thorin's blade, and Gandalf cursed.

"We have to get out of here," Dwalin said. "It's not safe."

"We can't," Ori said. "The ponies have bolted!"

"I'll draw them off," Radagast said. "I'd like to see a warg try and outrun my Rhosgobels!"

"Don't be absurd," Gandalf protested. "These are Gundabad wargs; they will hunt you down."

"You're short on options, friend," the Brown Wizard said. "Go; I'll cover you."

"He's right," Thorin said, nodding to the other wizard. "We have to go, now."

Gandalf was displeased, but he swept off with a last nod, ordering the company to follow him. Kate stood, dazed, her eyes still glued to the blood and gore on Thorin's sword. When Thorin noticed that she wasn't moving, he released her hand and placed his own on the back of her neck, forcing her to look at him.

"I need you with us, Miss Miller," he said. "I need you to run, and not look back, no matter what happens. Can you do that?"

"Oh, God," she said. Her voice came out in a whimper as the gravity of their situation finally hit her, and she suddenly felt nauseous. "Oh, my God."

"Miss Miller." Thorin shook her head slightly so her eyes would focus back on him. _"Kate."_ At the sound of her name, her gaze snapped to his, and she found herself back in her body again when she met the heavy blue of his eyes, grounded and aware as the fog that had been there a moment before dissipated. "Can you do that for me?"

"Run," she said, nodding. "Don't look back. Yeah. Got it."

"Good," he said, starting after the others. "Now, come on; I don't want to be here when the orcs catch up."

* * *

 _Mahal, if you can hear me, meet me behind the bleachers after school, you giant bastard. I'm gonna kick your godly ass for this._

Kate knew what she had gotten herself into when she made that deal with the Vala, but her knowledge of the story and future events had given her a false sense of security, she realized too late; a sense that had been dashed away as soon as Thorin had struck down that first warg. She knew now that nothing could have prepared her for being hunted through open terrain by bloodthirsty wargs and orcs as Gandalf led the company to…wherever he was leading them. Preferably somewhere safe.

The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly upon them as they sprinted through a sparse landscape, dotted only here and there with clusters of grey boulders. They had left the safety of the tree cover behind, and Kate was panicking at how exposed they were as they ran from rock to rock, only stopping a few moments each time for Radagast to lead the hunting party away from them before they were back to running.

Kate had sheathed her blade shortly after they'd begun running, realizing that sprinting with a heavy sword in your hand not only slowed you down, but weighed like hell on your arm. She could hear the excited shouts and cries of the orcs as they pursued Radagast and his rabbits, and the ground trembled beneath their feet from the heavy footfalls of the wargs as they gave chase.

"Stop!" Gandalf said, and the company froze behind a large cluster of rocks, throwing their backs against the stone as Radagast led the hunters right by them, far too close for comfort. Kate's chest heaved with every breath, and the rocks were digging into her back painfully, but she didn't dare move until Gandalf signaled them on.

"Where are you leading us?" Thorin said to Gandalf as she passed him, but if the wizard answered him, she didn't hear it, already back to running through the long golden grass that whipped at her legs and threatened to trip her up.

"Take cover!" Dwalin shouted, throwing himself behind another boulder as the hunters passed on a ridge just above them. The company piled behind the rocks, but Ori slipped and tumbled into the grass, letting out a pained yelp as he fell.

"Ori, no!" Dori gasped, but Thorin had flung himself after the other dwarf, hoisting him by his collar back into the cover of the rocks just as the hunting party passed.

The sounds of the hunters faded once again, and they let out a collective breath of relief until something heavy thudded against the rocks above them. Kate shivered involuntarily as the sound of claws scraping on stone echoed down to their little crag where they had taken shelter, and a snuffing noise had started up – the warg was sniffing for them.

From the corner of her eye, Kate saw Thorin nod to Kíli, who nocked his bow slowly, carefully. When the warg growled, he pushed off from the rock and fired, and the arrow sank into the beast's throat as it toppled off the boulder and landed in a crumpled heap before them.

The warg was not alone, however, and Kate flinched back as its orc rider pushed itself to its feet, shrieking wildly and charging, weapon drawn. Thorin and Dwalin ran to meet it as Kíli strung another arrow, but the orc was too close to take the shot without risk.

Kate watched in horror as the two dwarves slashed and jabbed at the orc, a stunted, mutated creature that looked like something straight out of her nightmares. They were making far too much noise, she thought; the orc was deliberately causing a racket, so the others would hear and turn their attention from Radagast to the company, and the ring of weapons from Thorin and Dwalin's blows was only making it worse.

"Kíli," she whispered, gripping the dwarf's wrist. "You have to shoot it. _Now."_

"I can't get a shot," he said. "They're too close."

"Do you have a sword or not?" she hissed, but it would take too long for him to draw it. "Fuck it, I'll do it."

She unsheathed her sword and darted forward, aiming for the orc's unprotected back as it fended off the dwarves' blows. Her momentum carried her straight into it, and her sword punched through its boiled leather armor easily, slicing through its mottled skin and muscle before jarring to a halt once the blade hit bone, sending shockwaves up her arm as she and the orc toppled to the ground.

The orc rolled, dislodging her blade and taking her with it, until it sat atop her chest and screamed, its oily black blood spurting into her face and blinding her. It pulled a knife from its belt, a wicked, curved thing that could gut her easily, and she raised her arm to block it out of reflex as the blade slashed down, aiming for her throat.

Before it could get there, however, an axe buried itself in the orc's skull, splitting it in half and spattering her with more black blood and bits of brain that had her retching in the grass as its body slid off her. She vaguely registered that there was some red blood, as well – her blood. Though the orc's blade hadn't touched her throat, it still had managed to catch her arm from where she'd had it raised, and her sleeve was now stained red from the cut she'd received.

"Oh, that's bad," she groaned, just as she was yanked to her feet by Thorin. "Shit, ow! Let go, dammit, that hurts!"

Thorin was heedless to her protests, his eyes piercing her with an unspoken fury as he shoved her back toward the company, picking up her sword from where it had fallen next to the dead orc.

"Go!" he barked at them. "They're coming."

Indeed, the howls of the wargs were nearly upon them, and Gandalf led the company across the plains at a speed which should have been impossible for any mortal man his age. Kate stumbled when she tried to follow, her arm now dripping blood, and she fought the urge to gag as the golden grass beneath her slowly started to turn red.

"C'mon, Kate." Bofur was at her side now, gazing at her tattered sleeve in concern. He gently nudged her back with his hand, though she could sense his urgency and fear. "We need to go."

She nodded dumbly, somehow managing to put one foot in front of the other as she jogged behind the rest of the company. Every step made her arm scream in agony, and she registered vaguely that she would have to stop the bleeding soon, or else she'd likely pass out. Now was certainly not the time for that, however, as the wargs were steadily gaining on them, and she grit her teeth and willed her legs to pump faster as she ran.

Bofur let out a loud swear from behind her. "They're cutting us off!"

Kate looked ahead and saw that he was right; wargs and their riders had sprinted ahead of them to block their way forward, and suddenly they were surrounded, stranded on open ground with nothing but a pile of rocks a few meters away to shelter them from the hunters.

"Get to the rocks!" Gandalf shouted.

"Half of you, with me," Thorin commanded. "We need to hold them off as long as possible." He still had her sword in his left hand while his right yielded his new elvish blade – _Orcrist,_ she remembered numbly – and he twirled them both as the wargs crept closer, their pace almost languid now that they knew the company was trapped.

"Kate, let's go," Bofur said, tugging her back towards the rocks where the others were fleeing as Thorin, Dwalin, Fíli, Kíli, Glóin, and Dori stayed back, taking up defensive positions around their perimeter.

Her vision was beginning to go in and out of focus, and she could hear her breath scraping against her lungs, rasping loudly in her ears. She was barely aware of her body moving as Bofur guided her towards the rocks, and she could only watch, helpless, as the hunters pressed closer.

Suddenly, the ground was gone, and Kate was tumbling down a rocky embankment, crying out whenever she landed on her arm, until she had rolled into a limp tangle of limbs at the bottom, her arm throbbing and her head pounding from where she'd hit it on the way down.

"Get her up, quickly!"

She was pulled out of the way as Bofur landed heavily where she had been a moment before, and she could feel several hands propping her against a solid cave wall as she groaned, wishing everyone would stop manhandling her.

"How bad?" someone was saying. She couldn't pinpoint whose voice it was, but she knew it was familiar.

"I can't say." That grim and gruff tone was Óin, she recalled. "It's too damn dark in here."

Whatever reply was made was drowned out by the sound of a war horn coming from outside their cave in the rocks, and Kate tried to cover her ears at the noise, but she found that she couldn't raise her right arm.

The rest of the dwarves that had been fighting when she'd gone in were now entering the cave, sliding down the tunnel with much more grace than she had and joining the ones that had already been inside.

"What is it? What's going?" Nori asked, but his answer was an orc tumbling down into their cave with a frightened squeal that was soon cut off once its neck broke from the fall.

Thorin appeared out of the gloom, spattered with blood as he bent down and pulled an arrow shaft from the orc's chest before spitting and tossing it aside. "Elves."

The dwarves all grumbled at this, before Dwalin's voice called, "There's a pathway! Do we follow it, or no?"

"Follow it, of course!" Bofur said, and the others muttered in agreement, picking themselves off the cavern floor and shuffling after the burly dwarf.

Óin was kneeling before her now, his brow furrowed as he gently lifted her arm. A stab of pain went through the limb, and she let out a distressed moan, not having the energy or the breath to cry out. Thorin dropped to his knees beside the healer, looking between him and Kate darkly.

"Will she be all right?" he asked.

Óin shook his head in frustration. "I need more light. But this—"

He peeled back her sleeve and gasped, and Kate stirred, wondering if the cut was really that bad, until she saw the dwarf's white face and wide eyes, staring at something inked into her flesh, now visible that he had moved the bloodied sleeve.

"Oh," she slurred, "yeah, that's – that's something…you probably shouldn't have seen yet… Just don't touch—"

The dwarf's thumb grazed the tattoo, and Kate nearly screamed as Mahal's voice rushed through her, as loud and rumbling as tectonic plates brushing against each other under the earth's surface: _"Do not fear, she is the Heart."_

"God, what does that _mean?"_ she cried, but if Mahal had any answers for her, she couldn't hear them, for she had already passed out cold.

* * *

 **Please review! I'd love to know your thoughts!**

 **This was definitely a "getting-from-Point-A-to-Point-B" chapter, but next up is Rivendell, so look forward to that!**

 **Also, if you're a GoT fan, I just recently posted a story for that if you ever find yourself in the mood for more gore and Jaime Lannister ;)**

 **xx**


	9. A Promise

**Disclaimer:** _All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

 **Welcome back! This chapter is a bit shorter than expected, but for some reason I had a hard time with it. Instead of sitting around and being stuck on it, however, I've decided to just go with it so hopefully I can move along with the rest of the story.**

 **Thank you for all the new favorites/follows, and thanks to my reviewers from last time!**

* * *

Chapter Nine: A Promise

She was running through the dark, blind and terrified. Her bare feet snagged on sharp rocks and the stone on either side of her scraped at her arms, drawing blood, but she dared not stop. Something was pursuing her, something foul and evil, she could _feel_ it – but she never turned back to look, never once paused to think about what might be behind her.

There was a light now – a glowing, pulsating light at the end of her path. She hurtled toward it, willing her legs to pump faster, _faster._ The ground began to shake, and there was a roar from behind her – then a burst of flame, white-hot and searing—

Kate jerked awake, looking around wildly, frightened that the thing pursuing her had caught her when she heard a distant roaring. There was nothing, though – nothing but her ragged breathing and the cold sweat on her skin. Still uneasy, she sat up carefully, but winced when a sharp pain tugged at her right forearm.

She looked down and noticed first that she was in a cot. A white blanket light as feathers covered her lower body, and her alarm increased when she realized that her leathers and furs were gone, replaced by a thin sleeveless shift instead. Her forearm was now throbbing, and she ran her fingers over a tightly wound bandage that stretched from her wrist to her elbow. The skin underneath tingled when she skimmed over the wrappings, and she hissed at the dull ache that emanated from the injury.

 _The orc,_ she remembered. _The stupid orc cut me._

Though that didn't explain where in the hell she was. She glanced up from her arm to take in her surroundings, seeing that her cot was one of many lined up in a row. There was another row across from her, and she guessed she was in some sort of infirmary – if infirmaries counted as large open-air pavilions smack in the middle of a valley.

There was no roof above her, allowing her to see the night sky and the stars, the light from the crescent moon shining down upon the landscape. Cliffs soared high on either side of the valley, and some of them gave flight to thundering waterfalls, which explained the roaring sound she'd heard earlier, at least. She suddenly started to have a faint inkling of where she might be as she forced herself to her feet, intent on exploring a bit more to confirm her suspicions. No sooner had her feet touched the floor, however, did an all too familiar voice speak from behind her.

"The Valley of Imladris," Mahal said, and she turned to see the Vala looking around the infirmary with mild disdain. "Rivendell, they call it in the Common Tongue." He snorted, gesturing to the winding river below them on the valley floor and the waterfalls that fed it. "Can't imagine why."

"The dwarves," she said, having to clear her throat a few times to get the words out. Her mouth was parched, and she reached for the cup of water that had been left on her bedside table, taking a few sips before continuing. "Where are they?"

"Oh, they're here," he said, waving a hand. "Unhappy about the arrangements, of course, but here."

Well, that didn't surprise her. Thorin had practically spit venom whenever Gandalf had brought up the idea of the Elves of Rivendell, though it seemed the wizard had somehow gotten his way after all. She fingered the edge of her bandage, frowning, and Mahal followed the movement, his eyes glowing softly in the darkness.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Your task is not yet done, Kate Miller. The others now need to hear your story and believe."

"Not until you tell me everything," she said, narrowing her eyes at the Vala. For such a formidable figure, he certainly looked uncomfortable as he turned his head, staring out at the moonlit waters around them. "You're keeping something from me. You called me 'the Heart.' What does that mean?" When he said nothing, she scowled. "We made a deal. If you don't start talking, then all bets are off. I walk away from the quest and your precious dwarves, and they're on their own."

"Break our deal, and you will never be able to go home," he countered.

"I've been here five years and done just fine," she retorted. "Try me."

His eyes flickered when he turned back to her, blazing gold and orange before simmering back to a deep red and blue, the color almost indigo in the night.

"You drive a hard bargain, Kate Miller," he said, amused. "You would do well as one of us." When she only stared back, unimpressed, he sighed. "I cannot give you the answers you seek."

"What? Why?" She crossed her arms, ignoring the pain that shot through her injury as she stared the Vala down.

He fiddled with the ends of his black beard, his fingertips curling faintly with smoke, refusing to meet her eyes. "I told you the first time we met that the others were unhappy with me bringing you here, even though it was foretold that you were the one we must call upon." He frowned. "The others debated, but I was the only one who acted. I brought you here, just as the prophecy said."

"The prophecy?" she repeated skeptically. "What prophecy? You never mentioned any prophecy before."

Mahal snorted. "Prophecies. _Bah._ They're useless. You can never get a straight answer from them."

"Yet you decided to trust this one and bring me to Middle-earth anyway," she said. Her confusion was growing by the second, as was her aggravation with the Vala and all his vague answers. "Why? What about this prophecy is so important?"

"That is what I cannot say," he said. "Telling you would change things too drastically – it would alter the course of this world forever."

"Bullshit!" she said. "My entire purpose of being here is to change the Line of Durin's fate! You said it yourself!"

Mahal turned back to her. His eyes glowed brighter, the flames within fanning to new heights.

"That is not your only purpose, Kate Miller," he said. "To save Oakenshield is your main task, yes, but your purpose stretches far beyond just that."

Her fingernails dug into the bare skin of her arms. "Tell me the prophecy. If you don't, then I swear on everything in this world that I will not help you."

"And walk away from Oakenshield? Leave him to die on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain?" He smiled sardonically. "Come, Kate; you would not leave an innocent to suffer. I know you better than that."

"You don't know anything about me," she hissed.

"I know your heart." He gestured to the bandage on her arm, where his mark resided just below, prickling her skin. "Abandoning others, just like you were abandoned? It is not in your nature. You care for Oakenshield. You would not leave him."

She looked away from his molten gaze, swallowing the lump in her throat. "What is the Heart?"

"You," he said simply. "Anything more, I am forbidden to say, but you are the Heart, Kate Miller. You will carry this quest on your shoulders and give hope to those who have none for themselves. You must, if you want to succeed."

"So, that's it?" She grit her teeth. "You're just going to make up some shitty inspirational answer to keep me going on this insane task, to keep me from questioning anything? What is it you're afraid of?"

"Afraid?" He scoffed. "I am of the Valar, child. I do not fear."

"You fear something if you won't tell me what this stupid prophecy is about. Will there be repercussions if you tell me what the hell is really going on? Some sort of retribution?"

"Your persistence is grating."

"And your reluctance to answer my questions is beginning to look like cowardice," she said, the ice in her voice meeting the flames in his eyes.

"Mind your tongue, Kate Miller," Mahal said. His voice was a deep rumble of thunder she could feel in her bones, shaking her core. "Your insolence will not go unpunished after this. Next time, I will not be so lenient."

And with that, he disappeared between one blink and the next. She stood dumbly for a few moments, but when she absorbed his sudden absence, she took her goblet and hurled it against the far wall.

"Screw you too!" she screeched.

There was no answer.

She sat down heavily on the edge of her cot, cradling her injured arm. Foolishly, she'd used it to chuck the goblet in her moment of rage, and now she was paying dearly for her mistake as her arm smarted and throbbed.

"Miss Miller?"

She looked up, wondering if Mahal had come back to torment her with more non-answers, but the figure that emerged from the shadows was Thorin, as dark and brooding as ever.

"What?" she snapped. Her fight with Mahal had zapped what little energy she had to begin with, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to crawl back under her blanket and fall into a dreamless sleep.

Thorin approached her with slow steps, as if she were a wild animal who might attack him at any moment. She ignored his hesitant approach, rubbing at her bandaged arm and wincing. He stopped just beside her cot, his deep eyes boring into her with a curious intensity, and she released a tight breath.

"What all did you hear?" she asked.

"Everything." There was no apology in his tone, no shame at having been eavesdropping, but she found that she didn't really care. At least now he knew what a prick his Maker was.

"If I knew how much of a bastard he was five years ago, I never would've made that deal with him," she said bitterly. She gave him a sideways glance. "No offense."

He smirked faintly. "None taken." After a brief moment, he sat down beside her, crossing his arms and ankles while she hunched over, her elbows resting on her knees. "After the things I overheard, I cannot blame you for your frustration."

"All I wanted was to help," she said. "It was a simple deal; I would go on the quest with you, make sure all of you survived such a suicidal task, and then I would go home. There was no mention of a prophecy, nothing about me being the Heart." She shook her head, cursing at the tears brimming in her eyes. "How did this get to be so complicated?"

Thorin said nothing. She glanced up to him and saw the shadows upon his face, the iron hardness in his eyes, and she suddenly remembered what all he heard.

"Oh, no," she said, the blood draining from her face. "Thorin – what you heard Mahal and I saying about you—"

He held up a hand, and she clamped her lips shut. Her heart was thundering like one of the waterfalls around them, and sweat began to pool under her arms and on her hands. Thorin had heard everything. _Everything._

"I am not…angry at you, Miss Miller." His brows hung low over his eyes, his mouth twisted into a deep frown. He seemed to be struggling to find words. "I think…I think, deep in my heart, I always knew what outcome awaited me at the end of this quest." He breathed deeply. "Fate…has never been kind to me. I did not expect this time to be any different."

Kate shook her head quickly. "No. _No._ Don't say that. That – that's why I'm here. To make sure fate _is_ kind to you."

Thorin gave her a small, sad smile. "You are one woman, Miss Miller. Perhaps you were chosen to save me, but if death by dragon-fire is my fate, then you can hardly change that."

Kate felt as if she had suddenly been slapped. "You don't think I can do it?"

He frowned. "I did not mean it that way—"

She stood abruptly, cutting him off. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. She was furious all over again – at Mahal, at herself, and now Thorin, for being so blasé about his own death, for _accepting_ his fate, like he had no desire to fight against it.

"I am here," she began, her voice trembling, "because I _chose_ to be here. Prophecies aside, Mahal still gave me a choice – either help save the Line of Durin, or go home and leave things alone. I stayed because I was selfish. I have no problem admitting that. I didn't want to be the poor orphan girl anymore. I wanted to be something more – to make a life for myself that for once I could have a say in. And I'm staying now because after meeting you – _all_ of you – I can't just walk away. You deserve to have a life of your own choosing, too. And I don't want that choice to be taken from you because you – you _died_ before you could reach that point where you _can_ choose."

She turned away from him, blinking back angry tears. Her chest heaved with emotion, and she stalked toward one of the tall, open archways of the infirmary, so he wouldn't see. She didn't know why she was getting so worked up, but Thorin's complacency was like a sharp blade twisting in her belly.

Despite the season, the night air was cool against Kate's skin, and it helped her compose herself again, clearing her head and chasing away her tears. Anger still simmered inside her, mixed with a deep hurt. Thorin did not believe she could save him. After earning his trust only that morning, it had suddenly been revoked, and that hurt her more than she cared to admit.

"You're upset."

She flinched; she hadn't heard Thorin approach, too absorbed in her own thoughts. He was looking intently at her face and the lingering tears on her cheeks that she hadn't bothered to wipe away. He unexpectedly held out a handkerchief to her.

"Thanks," she said. She didn't meet his eyes as she took the handkerchief and dried her face, but she could tell he was still watching her.

"Forgive me," he said. "I did not mean to cause you such distress."

She didn't answer him, for she feared she would start yelling again if she opened her mouth. Thorin remained by her side, equally silent, and for a while, all that could be heard were the sounds of the waterfalls and the crickets outside the archway.

"I told the Company about your mark," he said finally. Kate turned to him, shocked, but he was frowning out at the landscape.

"Well?" she said. "What did they say?"

Thorin heaved a great sigh. "I don't know."

Kate lifted a brow. "You don't know."

"I…left, before they could say anything. I wanted them to absorb the information first and reach their own conclusions without me influencing them."

"So, that's why you were wandering around by yourself and eavesdropping?"

He cast her an annoyed glance. "I was coming to see you, anyway."

"Why?" She raised up her bandaged arm. "Surely the healers informed you I wasn't in any danger of dying?"

His jaw tightened, and she wondered if he was grinding his teeth. "You were the only person I could think of who wasn't angry with me, and I with them." She smiled faintly; she knew he meant Gandalf for bringing them here.

She leaned against the archway, crossing her arms. She tried – and failed – to keep the smug smile from her face. "I told you that you should've been truthful about the mark from the get-go."

If possible, his teeth ground harder. "Yes, thank you for the reminder, Miss Miller."

She rolled her eyes. "Must you insist on calling me that? I have a first name, you know."

"I'm aware."

Mahal, he was aggravating.

"Then please use it from now on."

He sighed out his long nose. "I think my Maker was correct when he said that your persistence is grating."

She snorted. "I live to give him hell."

His mouth twitched. "So, we finally discover your true purpose for being here, after all."

"I must have died from that orc's blade if Thorin Oakenshield is making jokes," she said, raising her brows. He made no reply, but she glimpsed a flicker of amusement in his eyes. She jerked her chin at him. "Get some sleep. You need it."

He raised a brow at her, and she realized that he probably wasn't used to taking orders. She only stared back pointedly.

"Very well," he said after a few moments. "I shall see you on the morrow."

She nodded. He moved away from her, but after a few steps he stopped.

"Kate," he said, hesitant. She turned, surprised. Hearing her name when they were not in danger of dying was strange, but she quite liked it. Thorin was staring at her, a thousand questions haunting his eyes. "When you were speaking with Mahal, you mentioned the Line of Durin's fate." She winced. "I know what the future might hold for me, but what of my nephews? Fíli? Kíli?"

Thorin Oakenshield was not a desperate soul. But in that moment, he looked like a drowning man begging for a lifeline. It broke her heart.

"I won't let anything happen to them," she said. "Nor will I let anything happen to you. I swear it, Thorin."

She had cast him the lifeline. Now it was his choice whether to accept it or continue fighting the waves that threatened to drag him under.

"Then I will help you," he said quietly. "And I swear that I will protect you and my Company from the fate that awaits us."

A lifeline – a bond that now joined them together, entwining their destinies.

Kate watched Thorin walk out of the infirmary before she turned her face back to the stars. They seemed closer than before, pressing down on her like the new weight of her vow to Thorin. Her eyes picked out one of the brighter stars, and suddenly she was not in Rivendell or Middle-earth, but a group home in Boston on Christmas Eve.

But instead of a wish, she made a promise.

And she knew the stars would hold her to it.

* * *

 **Please review! I love hearing your thoughts!**

 **Next chapter we'll get to Rivendell and back to the rest of the Company, so stay tuned for that.**

 **xx**


	10. A Mark of the Maker

**Disclaimer:** _All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

 **Welcome back! I've extended their stay in Rivendell just a smidge. They won't be there for as short a time as in the movies, but not quite as long as in the books, either. Just enough to get the important stuff out of the way before we get back to the quest.**

 **Thank you for all the new favorites/follows, and thank you to everyone who reviewed last time!**

* * *

Chapter Ten: A Mark of the Maker

When Kate awoke again, night had been swapped for day, and there was an elf standing over her.

Kate jerked back at the unexpected sight, only managing to burrow herself deeper into her cot as the elf looked over at the sudden movement.

 _Alien_ was the first word that came to mind when Kate saw the elf. Alien beauty. Tall, slender, and with skin as smooth and unblemished as polished ebony. Pointed ears and harsh, sharp lines that made the elven features look almost aquiline. The elf's midnight hair and sapphire robes hardly whispered when that lithe body moved, and Kate ogled at the unnatural grace and stillness when the elf turned deep golden eyes on her.

"You are awake," he said. His voice was much deeper than Kate had been expecting; not the rumbling gruffness of Thorin or the earth-moving drawl of Mahal, but something that reminded her of deep, unexplored caves in the hidden parts of the world. "How are you feeling?"

It took Kate a few moments to remember how to form coherent words. "Um, sore. And thirsty."

The elf swept to her bedside table and poured her a glass of water. She noticed that the shattered glass from the goblet she'd hurled against the wall last night had been cleaned, and repressed a wince. She took the glass gently in her hands, avoiding the long fingers curled around it, and drank deeply. When she was finished, the elf set her glass aside and held out a hand. "May I?"

He indicated the bandages wrapped around her forearm. She hesitated, thinking about Mahal's mark. But her injury had already been tended to; the mark must have been noted then, yet she was still uneasy as she lifted her stiff arm.

The elf worked with gentle, cool fingers. He unwrapped her bandages, and she winced whenever they snagged on her arm-hairs, the salve that had been applied making the bandages sticky. She chanced a glance at her arm, wondering if she were about to find it mangled and bloody, but it looked fine. Better than fine, actually. There were several scabbed puncture marks along her forearm, and green-yellow bruises dotted amongst those. She flexed her fingers; while her arm was still incredibly sore, she could still move her muscles.

The elf must have seen the shocked look on her face, for he smiled faintly. "Elvish medicine has always been highly regarded in these lands," he said. He turned her arm this way and that, examining. The mark of Mahal caught the morning sunlight streaming in through the open archways of the building, whole and untouched, but he said nothing of it. "The skill of the elves is unparalleled in the healing arts, save for few others."

"I can tell," Kate murmured, gazing in awe at her nearly-healed arm. If she hadn't received aid from the elves, she'd undoubtedly have several stitches and her arm in a sling. And without adequate medical care, probably an infection and fever on top of that. "Are you, ah, the one who did this?" She pointed to her arm. "Healed me?"

"Indeed." He brushed a featherlight finger over the deepest wound, right near the fold of her elbow. She didn't even flinch at the touch. "It was fortunate that you and your companions were so close to the Valley. Warg bites can turn very deadly if left untreated." His golden eyes flicked up to hers. "The wizard was right to bring you here. Even if the dwarves disagree."

Kate frowned. Had Thorin and the others not wanted to come to Rivendell, even if she was injured?

She blew out a tight breath. "Well, thank you." She lifted her arm half-heartedly. "For healing me."

"It is my duty to serve the wounded and ill," he said. He swept over to a workspace she hadn't noticed the night before that held all sorts of vials and tools. Each step was deliberate, ethereal. He moved like air. He cast a look back over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "But you are welcome."

"Do you have a name?" she asked. She realized then that she was sweating; either from nerves or the sun, she couldn't tell, but when he turned his back, she raised her arms and tried to fan herself out.

"Tassarion," he replied, not once looking up from his task of grinding various herbs and liquids with a mortar and pestle. "And you, daughter of Man?"

"Kate," she said. She ran a finger over her mark, thinking back to her conversation with Mahal and scowling. "Do you know where I might find my companions?"

Tassarion shrugged. "I cannot say. But guests are typically given rooms in the East Wing. If I were you, I would start my search there." He swept back to her with a fresh roll of bandages and some sort of salve. "Arm out, please. This may sting."

He rubbed the salve into her wounds, and she grit her teeth against the burning cold sensation of it. When her arm was sufficiently lathered and tingling, he began wrapping it in the bandages. He worked silently, and Kate had to marvel at the deftness of his fingers, the lightness of his touch. Alien, indeed – but pleasantly so.

"You should return after dinner so I may dress your wounds again," he said, rinsing his hands in a bowl of water. "I should like to check you again on the morrow, morning and evening, to examine you further and be certain that there are no signs of infection or further damage." She nodded. "In the meantime, do not exert yourself. No heavy lifting, and no swordplay."

He cast her a pointed look, and she knew he had seen her sword when she was brought in, which reminded her of something.

"And my clothes?" She plucked at the thin shift she was wearing. "I don't think it'd be very polite if I went out looking like this."

She could have sworn his lips curled slightly in a grin before it was gone. He gestured to a neatly stacked pile on the cot beside hers.

"Your clothes are there," he said. "I did the courtesy of having them washed and patched for you. Your sword is with your companions."

Well, damn. These elves moved fast. She hopped out of the cot and approached the pile of clothes. Tassarion made to step out to give her privacy, but Kate turned back to him.

"Tassarion!" He paused and looked back to her. His face and golden gaze were as indecipherable as Thorin's, but she smiled at him. "Thank you."

The elf dipped his head respectfully before breezing away, his sapphire robes rustling silently. Kate stared after him, an odd smile on her face. Well. Tassarion hadn't been what she'd expected at all. Frightfully beautiful, otherworldly, and ancient, yes, but not inaccessible. He was just…an elf.

Feeling slightly more confident after her conversation with Tassarion, Kate shed her shift and began to dress. Though Rivendell wasn't sweltering hot, the summer sun was certainly not going to make it any colder, so she donned only her loose white undershirt and the thin trousers she typically wore under leathers, ditching the leathers and furs altogether, except for her boots. She couldn't recall the last time she'd bathed, but she felt and looked clean, and decided not to think about how she had come to be in that state. Tugging her hair into a loose braid and securing it with a leather band, she cautiously made her way out of the infirmary and into the expanse of Lord Elrond's household.

The architecture reflected that of what she had already seen with Tassarion: ancient, but timeless. Every curve, every structure, was slim and graceful, carved from white wood with expert skill that only an immortal craftsman would have the time to perfect. The floors were pale, polished stone, and what few walls stood to block out the brunt of the sun's rays were covered with fluttering tapestries of rivers, waterfalls, forest glens, and dancing elves. Most of the houses she passed through were open to the elements, and whatever magic the valley possessed that kept the weather amenable.

She walked through endless corridors and over arching walkways that she dared not look down from, not this high up. The House had been built into the side of the eastern cliff-face, nestled amongst the towering waterfalls she had noticed last night, and as the Elves of Rivendell seemed not to believe in the concept of handrails, every step she took was carefully calculated as not to plunge to her death to the valley floor far, _far_ below.

There were no signs of any other elves, not even a whisper. Nor did she find any indication of where the Company was. Tassarion had mentioned the East Wing, and she had followed the sun east, but Lord Elrond's House was much bigger than she initially thought it was. But as no one was around for her to stop and ask directions, she just kept roaming through the infinite halls.

About fifteen minutes had passed since she'd left the infirmary when she ran into someone – literally. She'd been rounding a corner when something solid smacked into her stomach, and she puffed out a gasp involuntarily, looking down to see – a child. A human child.

"Oh," she said, blinking. She wondered if that salve Tassarion had put on her had somehow seeped into her skin and made her start hallucinating. Why would a human child be in a place for elves?

The child peered up at her with solemn gray eyes. He looked to be about ten or so, but his serious expression made him look older. Wiser. It unnerved her. "Uh, sorry. I didn't see you there."

The child inclined his head to her in a gesture that was _definitely_ more mature than an average ten-year-old had the right to be. Or maybe she was just used to the demons she'd encountered in the Boston home that had cut holes in the toes of all her socks and spit gum in her hair.

"Excuse me," the boy said, his tone unusually grave. It went perfectly with his stormy eyes and dark hair. "I was not paying attention to where I was going. I'm sorry for running into you."

"Don't worry about it." She tried for a smile. "I'll, uh, let you get on with…whatever you were doing."

The boy smiled back, and some excitement lit up his solemn eyes as he said, "I was just on my way to the training yard for my lessons with Lords Elladan and Elrohir. Would you like to come watch?"

"Er…" Kate wavered at his bright eyes. She ought to decline and continue her search for the Company, but the boy's excitement punched a hole straight through her gut. Molly. He reminded her of Molly, and the joy she'd had in her eyes when she wished on the star that Kate had found for her.

"You know what?" she said. "Sure." She swept a hand to the hall behind her. "Lead the way."

The boy smiled, and some of the eerie grimness dissipated from his face as he took the lead, wending through the halls and houses with practiced ease.

"I'm Estel, by the way," he said. Kate started, trying to remember where she'd heard that name before, but the boy didn't give her pause to think. "I heard Lord Elrond speaking to my mother last night about the company of dwarves that had arrived yesterday, traveling with a hobbit, a human woman, and Gandalf the Grey. Are you the woman? You have to be. My mother is the only other one in this valley."

The boy – Estel – spoke so fast Kate had to take a moment to process all he'd thrown at her. Such a change from the solemn-faced, soft-spoken boy she'd run into only moments before.

"Yes, I am," she said as she continued to follow him. "I'm Kate."

He twisted his head over his shoulder to frown at her. "That's an odd name."

 _So is Estel,_ she wanted to retort, but she figured she shouldn't stoop to the level of a ten-year-old.

"So I've been told," was all she said before they stepped out into a large, grassy area somewhere within the valley. She had no idea where she was, or how far she'd gone from where she had been, but before she could ask, Estel had taken off for the center of the training yard, where two elves stood talking.

Kate paused at the edge of the training yard, taking in the two elves that turned to greet Estel. Tassarion had been a shock, but his gentleness and tranquil demeanor had put her at ease. These elves were different from the healer. Their posture, their garb, their faces – everything about them screamed _warrior._

Estel was still talking to them, standing at half their size, and Kate stiffened when he turned and pointed at her, the elves following his finger. Estel gestured for her to come over. Swallowing, she obeyed, telling herself that if the boy was unafraid of the elven warriors, then she would also be.

She made her way across the training yard, passing racks of practice weapons and targets, her boots finding easy purchase on the well-worn, often-used grass. The elves watched her approach, still and silent as statues. Like Estel, they were both dark-haired and gray-eyed, but that was where the similarities ended.

Tall, powerfully built, and utterly inhuman – that's what these elves were. Their long hair had been braided back to reveal pointed ears and every harsh, angular feature they possessed. Kate would have thought they were carved from the same pale wood and stone as the rest of Rivendell if it wasn't for their bronze skin, warmed from years in the sun – and scarred from many battles.

Kate halted before the trio, aware of her every breath and movement while the two elves sized her up, Estel watching them curiously. They all wore the same things, even Estel: loose gray shirts and pants, sturdy but supple boots. Clothes for training. Fighting.

She began to regret ever following the boy here.

Trying not to betray her nerves, she inclined her head respectfully, remembering Estel's words from earlier about the Lords Elladan and Elrohir. Her throat went dry, even as she kept her eyes down. Elladan and Elrohir. _Those_ names she knew. They were Lord Elrond's sons, and Arwen's brothers. _Shit._

She prayed she wouldn't throw up as she straightened and flashed them her most winning smile. "I hope you don't mind that Estel brought me along. Truth be told, I was quite lost until he found me and invited me here." She grinned at the boy, and he nodded encouragingly. She looked back to the two males. "I'm Kate. Kate Miller."

"We know who you are," the male on the right said. Up close, it was hard to tell the two elves apart. They had to be twins. The only immediate difference she could tell was in their scar patterns. The one who had spoken to her first had a thin white line that spliced his upper lip, while the other had a jagged scar that stretched from the corner of his mouth to his pointed ear. She wondered if they left those scars there on purpose, given the feats of elvish medicine.

The first male spoke again. "The wizard explained who you were to us when you all crossed the borders of the Hidden Valley yesterday."

She sucked on a tooth. The males before her remained as unyielding as stone. "Right."

The first elf gestured to himself, then the other. "I am Elladan. This is my brother, Elrohir. Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell, is our father."

Kate mustered as much diplomacy as she could, saying, "Your father has my thanks for his hospitality."

The second elf – Elrohir – flicked his eyes to the bandages peeking out from under the sleeve of her shirt.

"It is not in our nature to turn our backs on those who seek aid, and wish no harm upon our people," he said. His lip curled just slightly. "Unlike choice others."

She wondered if he meant the dwarves. She frowned at the thought, but Elladan put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Come," he said to Elrohir and Estel. "Midday approaches. We should begin our lessons."

Estel nodded eagerly and took off for the weapons racks, leaving Kate alone with the two males. She eyed them warily.

"Estel seems happy to have more of his kind here," Elladan observed. A hint of softness touched his harsh face as he watched the boy don simple leather armor and select his practice weapon – a long wooden sword. "It has been a long time since any Men have visited Imladris." His gray eyes slid to her. "Especially a woman who travels with such strange companions."

She ignored the unspoken question in his words, instead frowning at Estel. A sense of familiarity niggled in the back of her mind, telling her she ought to know something, but she couldn't put her thumb on what it was.

"Why aren't there more?" she asked, jerking her chin to Estel. "Why only him? And his mother?"

Elrohir cut her a sharp glance, then looked to his brother. Elladan shook his head slightly. Without a word, Elrohir stalked away, heading toward Estel, every step like a lion's prowl. She suppressed a shudder. God, they even _moved_ inhumanly.

"Such things are not ours to discuss," Elladan said, smoothing over the awkward moment. He dipped his chin to her. "If you'll excuse me, Miss Miller, I must begin training the boy. There are benches over there if you wish to stay and watch."

Kate nodded. "I'll stay. I told him I would."

Elladan returned the gesture before walking away, while she went in the opposite direction, toward the benches he'd indicated just outside the ring of the yard. She sat upon the sun-warmed stone, telling herself that she was just enjoying her short rest, and not avoiding her inevitable confrontation with the Company.

Estel waved to her as Elladan and Elrohir began leading him through drills, and Kate waved back. That sense was still nagging at her, telling her that she was missing something vital, but she forced it down. She would deal with it later.

She had other things to worry about.

* * *

Thorin was just finishing breakfast with Balin and Dwalin when he was cornered by his nephews.

"We need to talk," Fíli said. His tone brooked no room for argument. Thorin blinked, more from shock than irritation at being addressed as such by the younger dwarf, for the tone was exactly the one he'd used on them when they were dwarflings.

Balin opened his mouth – probably to admonish the prince, as Thorin had contemplated – but he held up his hand, silencing the other dwarf. Balin grunted, displeased, but went back to eating the hearty oat bread the elf servant had brought them an hour after dawn. Dwalin appeared rather uninterested in the whole ordeal, considering he was already on his fourth plate of breakfast (just two less than Bombur), but Thorin knew he was listening like a hawk.

He sighed, and gestured for his nephews to sit. They threw themselves on the cushions across the table from Thorin, their eyes and faces hard, stubborn. Mahal, they were the spitting images of him and Dís. Frerin, too, he thought with a pang.

"Very well," he said. He raised the mug of sweetened milk they'd been provided to his lips as the princes exchanged a glance. "Talk."

"When were you going to tell us about Kate's mark?" Fíli demanded.

"When I deemed it necessary," Thorin said, setting down his mug after taking a long swig. "And yesterday was necessary. That was why I told you. All of you."

"Why didn't you tell us at the very beginning?" Kíli said. His dark eyes – so like his late father's – flared with a spark he had seen many times from Víli. Something in Thorin's chest ached at the sight. "If not the others, then why not us?" He indicated himself and Fíli.

"We're your heirs," Fíli said, his jaw set. "We should have known – we could've _helped_ —"

"Helped with what?" Thorin said. "In sharing the burden?" He waved his hand to Balin and Dwalin, who were still eating quietly and diligently. He shook his head. "It was not yours to bear."

"This quest is for all of us," Fíli snapped. "That's why all of us are here. We deserved to know, from the very moment you accepted Kate into this Company. Yet you and she conspired to keep it a secret—"

Thorin shook his head, cutting him off. "There was no conspiracy between Miss Miller and I," he said. "That blame lies entirely with me. She wanted to tell you, but I forbade her. Not until I knew she could be trusted."

"Why?" Kíli repeated.

Thorin looked down to his hands, folded on the small table before him, and found he could not meet any of their eyes as he said, "Because I was afraid."

And for good reason, given all that he'd overhead between Kate and Mahal the night before. About his fate. About the fates of his nephews. But they'd sworn – he and Kate had both sworn to fight against that outcome, to fight for the two young princes before him who were older than he'd ever realized before.

"I was afraid," he went on, voice low, "because I thought Miss Miller and her mark were harbingers of doom. A sign from the Valar that we were destined to fail, if not for her. And I still am afraid." He sucked in a deep breath. "And I do not know if that makes me a coward. If that makes me weak."

"It is no weakness," Balin said, voice rough, "for a king to admit his fears." He clapped Thorin on the shoulder. Dwalin nodded, slowly, thoughtfully. Fíli and Kíli simply watched him, their gazes unreadable.

Thorin dipped his head in gratitude, but it was to his nephews that he spoke. "Miss Miller will be here today to tell her story and bare her mark. All I ask is that you listen to her." He hesitated. "And know that I truly am sorry."

His nephews only traded another glance before they both nodded curtly and left him alone with Balin and Dwalin.

Thorin Oakenshield had many regrets in his life. And now he could add this to the long list.

* * *

"Nervous?"

Thorin looked up from his studious observation of the floor to see Kate leaning against one of the pillars that surrounded the courtyard the Company had made camp in. Lord Elrond – ever the gracious host, Thorin thought with a scowl – had offered them all rooms, of course, but they'd declined. It was their own rebellion, in a way; one that Thorin relished whenever he saw the distasteful looks on the faces of the elves who brought them food and supplies.

The Company had gathered in the courtyard to meet with Kate so she could explain her deal with Mahal and the truth about where she came from. She'd arrived only a few minutes ago, escorted by two elves that had looked Thorin over coolly and a human child that had seemed quite loath to leave Kate and attend his afternoon lessons, as he'd heard the elves saying to the boy when they'd departed. Thorin had given Kate a questioning look about her choice in companions, but she'd only offered him a half-hearted shrug, as if to say _I couldn't tell you._

Thorin frowned at her. She seemed relaxed, lounging against the pillar with her hands in her pockets and her foot nocked behind her against the stone. She was much smaller, he realized, without her layers of leather and fur. The sun kissed her honey-blonde hair, turning it golden, and her hazel eyes seemed to shift with the dappled light whenever a breeze rustled the leaves above them. He knew enough about the customs of Men after laboring in their villages for years to know that she would be considered comely by their standards – perhaps even beautiful.

"Why would I be nervous?" he asked her.

She shrugged – too casually. "Dunno. I'm assuming you have your reasons, though." When he continued to frown at her, she nodded to him. "You've been staring at the floor for the past five minutes as if it'd personally offended you." She tilted her head. "Though knowing your displeasure of elves, it probably has. And not to mention that your jaw is doing the thing."

He stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, the thing." She tapped her cheek, grinding her teeth together until the muscle in her jaw began twitching. "It always happens when you're overthinking something and you become anxious. It's like your tell."

"Like how you're keeping your hands in your pockets to refrain from fidgeting," he said. She opened her mouth to object, but he smirked. "You have your tells too, Kate."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

It was strange, seeing her so…informal. Casual. Bantering with him like they were two normal people, not a king with a doomed quest hanging over his head and the key to his salvation standing across from him. It seemed that removing the pressure from her, allowing her to be honest to the Company, had also removed any guard she'd put around herself to keep them from asking too many questions, from getting too close.

He wondered if that was a good or a bad thing.

She sighed. "Standing out here isn't going to do anything. You ready for this?"

He inclined his head to her. "Lead on, Mahal's chosen."

"Ugh, God, _please_ don't call me that," she said, making a face before walking into the courtyard, her back straight and her chin high. Thorin found himself staring after her, a small smile on his face, before he shook his head and followed.

* * *

The Company stared at her like she'd grown a third arm out of her head.

She supposed she couldn't blame them. It wasn't everyday someone claimed to be from another world and ended up in their own pretty much by sheer accident despite whatever god claimed the prophecy had chosen them specifically. She felt so bad for the load of shit she'd dumped on them that she didn't even mention how their quest was already written in a book that she'd read before. She was afraid Dori would keel over from a heart attack, the poor dwarf. Yes. The book could wait. Right now, they just had to believe her own story.

She'd explained it all: the star she'd wished on in her own world; her deal with Mahal to help them on their quest so she could go home; the five years she'd spent wandering Middle-earth, waiting for them – all of it. She'd even told them about the mystery regarding the prophecy, and Mahal calling her the Heart, hoping one of the dwarves or Bilbo had some information that could help her. But so far, they'd all remained silent. Shocked. Disbelieving.

"I have proof," she said quietly. She rolled up her sleeve to reveal Mahal's mark and gestured to the dwarves standing behind her – Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin – who'd already heard her story and touched the mark. Her eyes sought Óin. The healer dwarf was staring at her, his face ashen. He'd touched her mark yesterday, after the warg bit her. It was to him she spoke. "Mahal gave me this as a message to all dwarves; to convince them that I am who I say I am. Touch it, and you will hear him."

After a tense moment, Óin stepped forward. Glóin hissed something under his breath to his brother, but Óin ignored him. He approached Kate warily, as if she might lunge and attack him.

But she simply stood, holding out her arm. His dark eyes flicked up to meet hers, full of questions, and she tried for a reassuring smile. After a moment, he took her arm in his hands and pressed his palm flat to the mark.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Kate held her breath, wondering if Mahal had decided not to help her after her outburst. But then Óin stiffened, his fingers clutching her skin, just below her bandages. A faraway look entered his eyes, followed by awe, and then wonder. Kate heard Mahal's words as clearly as if he were standing next to her.

" _Your portents and faith are true, my child. Believe her as you believe me. She is the Heart, and you will need her before your task is done."_

"Durin's beard," Óin whispered, hoarse. "It's true."

He looked to Thorin, tears filling his eyes. The king only gave him a solemn nod of confirmation. Óin staggered back into the group of dwarves, talking so quietly Kate could not hear, but after a few moments, Glóin approached her, his brows heavy with skepticism.

"I don't know what witchcraft this is, but—" He didn't finish as he touched her mark, and his jaw went slack as Mahal spoke again, his voice reverberating through her.

" _Temper the flames in your heart, Glóin son of Gróin. They will serve you well on your journey, but save them for the challenges ahead. Trust that she is the Heart. Let her be the flame you forge your courage in."_

And to Kate's utter terror, the redhaired dwarf before her – so gruff and so callous most of the time – burst into tears. He mumbled something in the dwarven tongue, reaching up to kiss both her cheeks before he returned to the others, leaving her gaping. She turned to Thorin and found him smiling. It was only because of Bofur's approach that she looked away from Thorin and that rare smile of his.

On it went. The dwarves touched her mark and heard Mahal speak to them. Some gazed to her reverently, while others trembled or laughed or wept (Ori being the latter). When Fíli strode to her, cynicism limning his very being, she took his hand and guided it to wrap around her forearm.

"Be open," she said to him. His gray-blue eyes bored into her intently, only widening slightly when Mahal's voice coursed through her again.

" _Hail, lionhearted son of Durin. Your courage and fierce loyalty will be a light to those trapped in the darkness. Believe that she is the Heart – your equal. Together, you will blaze a path for all those who follow you, in life and in death."_

Fíli's hand trembled on her arm before he released her, his face pale.

"It's true," he whispered. She nodded.

"Well, budge over, you great lump," Kíli said to his brother, shoving him out of the way with his hip. Fíli stumbled to where Thorin stood as Kíli scanned Kate from head to toe thoughtfully. Without a word, he touched her mark.

This time, Mahal's voice rocked through her chest, grinding against her bones as he spoke to the young prince.

" _Never before has a wolf been born to the Line of Durin but you, Kíli son of Víli. The blood in your veins flows true, Heir of Durin. Trust your instincts, and they will never lead you wrong. Even now, they tell you that she is the Heart, and that her story is true. You will find your place in the world before the end. Trust in that, young prince."_

Kíli blinked, the only sign of surprise he showed. As the last dwarf to touch her mark, all eyes were on him as he released Kate's arm, his face blank.

Until he grinned at Kate, mischief lighting his dark eyes, and said low enough that only she could hear, "I'd love to see if you have any more secret marks hidden elsewhere on you."

"Of course you would," she purred.

With a wink and suggestive grin, he went to join his brother and uncle, leaving Kate alone in the center of the courtyard. Under the heavy stares of the dwarves, she felt quite faint, and it wasn't until then that she realized she was sweating, and a faint trembling had started in her fingers.

Perhaps being a vessel of the Valar was a lot more draining than she initially thought.

"Well." She swallowed, her throat dry. "Any questions?"

"Indeed," said an ancient voice from behind her.

Kate and the Company whirled to see a tall elf standing at the courtyard entrance, a gold circlet resting upon his brow. Lord Elrond.

The Lord of Rivendell's eyes sought her out and pinned her in place. "Come, Miss Miller. We have much to speak about."

* * *

 **Please review! I'd love to know your thoughts!**

 **A few notes:**

 **I've decided to play around with the elves a bit and their "otherworldly" attributes. Since they are so different from Men, I wanted to try and get that across. I enjoyed writing them and tacking on some more features and characteristics besides the usual "beautiful, wise, immortal" thing. They have an edge to them that marks them as other creatures, and I really wanted to bring that out, especially since Kate had never interacted with an elf before.**

 **I couldn't resist having some canon characters besides Elrond and the White Council make an appearance. Perhaps they will have a role to play in the future?...**

 **We still have a map to read and a council meeting to be had, so maybe we'll spend one or two more chapters in Rivendell? I don't know. I plan one thing and then my characters do another. So we'll see :)**

 **xx**


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